The Flicker Men (16 page)

He turned to the men. “See Mr. Argus out, will you?”

The bigger crew cut put a hand on my shoulder.

I considered resisting, an instinctual response. I stood. “You'll be hearing from me again,” I said.

“Mr. Argus, I'm sad to say I truly doubt it.”

 

22

It was four days later when I got the call. A Saturday afternoon, just as the light was beginning to grow long outside my motel room window. The buzz startled me—a sudden glow from the table where I'd set my phone.

It buzzed exactly twice and then went silent. I eyed the screen. Missed call.

I didn't recognize the number at first. Local area code. The number looked familiar but didn't show up as a contact.

And then I realized why. I stared at the number.

It was a number I was familiar with but never called. It was my own number from work.

I stiffened, suddenly very much alert.

I called the number back, but there was no answer. My own voice on the service, recorded once and then forgotten:
I'm not in my office, but if you leave a message, I'll get back to you.
I called again. Then again. Five times over the next minute or two, while I dressed, but there was never an answer. Just my own voice on the other end.

I'm not in my office, but if you leave a message—

I'm not in—

I'm not in—

I began to hate the sound of my own voice. I considered calling Jeremy, but what would I say? That I'd received a call from work on a Saturday afternoon? A mysterious hang-up? What would he do about that? People often were at the lab over the weekend. It wasn't exactly the kind of thing you called the cops about. Or maybe it was, considering everything that had happened. Most likely, he'd just drive to work himself and check on it.

I splashed water on my face, trying to clear my head. I tried to picture who could have been at the other end of that telephone, sitting in my chair, dialing my number, and only one person came to mind. And he'd called me, not Jeremy.

But why call from the lab? Why not use his cell? After all the silence, why call from the work phone? It didn't make sense. Unless he didn't want to be traced. Or maybe Jeremy was right, and he'd just lost his phone. Maybe the work phone was just the one he happened to have convenient. But then why hang up?

A third option was that it wasn't Satvik at all.

I opened the duffel bag, rooted inside, and pulled the gun out, weighing it in my hand. There are some things you do, you can't undo.

I checked for a round in the chamber. The weapon was loaded.

But you had to trust yourself. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser. Brown hair wild. My square face thinner than it had been in a long time. My eyes restless.

I wrapped the gun in an old pair of blue jeans and put it back in the duffel. Then I put the duffel in the security box in the closet.

I found my shoes and headed out the door.

*   *   *

I drove to the lab as the sun went down, my phone on the passenger seat next to me. It had rained earlier in the day, and the roads were still wet. I hit the wipers to beat away the spray kicked up by other cars. I arrived at the lab just as dusk fell, and the small yellow light clicked on in the visitor parking. I continued on, taking the curving drive around to the back.

When I saw it, my heart beat faster. Satvik's car sat parked in the middle of the lot. His gray sedan. I almost shouted.

I parked next to him and climbed out. I walked to the old Subaru and felt the hood, as I'd seen on an old cop show once. The hood was still warm under a few beads of water.

I headed into the main building and swiped my badge to open the security door. I crossed the lobby and took the stairs to the second floor.

The front halls were well lit, but deeper in, I had to rely on the last of the setting sun.

“Satvik!” I called out. “Are you here?”

There was no answer.

He'd called from my office extension, but I decided to check his office first.

The only sound was the clicking of my shoes.

As I got closer to his room, I saw that his light was off. Not a hopeful sign. At his door, I flicked the switch. The office was empty. It looked exactly as it had for the past few weeks. No sign that Satvik had been there.

I left the light on and continued down the hall, heading for Satvik's lab space. This, too, was empty.

His equipment lay spread out across his lab bench much as it had every other time I'd visited. I was about to leave, but I stopped.

Something looked different. I studied the room.

It took me a moment to place it.

The diagrams were gone. Pulled down from their place on the wall. One corner of paper still flapped against the wall where it had been torn. The diagrams hadn't been so much taken down as ripped away.

My nerves on high alert, I left his room and took the hall around the corner.

I stopped. Here, at last, a light was on.

My office.

I saw the light pouring out through my door.

“Satvik!” I called out.

I waited. There was no answer.

“Satvik, is that you?”

Only silence greeted me. I walked to my office.

It was empty.

I stepped inside, studying the small room. Not a piece of paper out of place. Not a thing disturbed. I sank into my swivel chair, trying to decide what to do. The phone sat on my desk. I picked up the receiver and called Satvik's cell, thinking maybe he'd answer if he saw I was here, but I got the same result as the previous week. Straight to voice mail. His phone was either turned off or dead.

I thought about calling his house, but something held me back. What if he still hadn't contacted his wife? I didn't want to disturb her. This was looking more and more uncertain, and I didn't want to call until I had something solid to tell her. And if Satvik hadn't gone home yet, he might have a good reason. No, better to wait and sort things out. There would be time enough for that phone call once I knew what was happening.

But what
was
happening? A mysterious hang-up. A familiar car in the lot. I laid my forehead on the desk. The surface was cool and solid.

If his car was here, it meant that he had to be here somewhere. Though not necessarily in this building.

My head snapped up.

I stood, crossed to the window, and pulled the blinds. Through the glass, across the rear parking lot, I saw the out-labs, and just beyond them, nestled at the far end of the lot, I saw the old warehouse—W building. The front door was open.

I moved quickly.

I took the stairs at a run and hit the glass doors. Cool evening air. Across the back parking lot, I followed the sidewalk up to the entrance of the warehouse and passed through the open doorway. The storage facility was larger than the main building and more open. But there was the same silence. In here was kept all the old equipment. A series of offices and small storage units took up the front of the building. The back was a grid of larger storage cubicles, piled high with the castoffs of a dozen closed facilities. An equipment grave yard.

“Satvik?” I called out.

I passed down a long hall of darkened offices and then pushed open a door leading to the interior. I hit the lights.

Nothing. The great room was empty. I walked the line of cubicles just to be sure, looking down the long rows as I went. I stopped at the far end.

It didn't make sense. Where the hell was he?

Against the far wall was a workstation with a pen and clipboard. I tore off a sheet of paper, flipped it over, and wrote:

Satvik, call me.

I'd leave the note on his car, I decided. If I didn't hear anything by morning, I'd call Jeremy, the police, his wife. I'd call everyone. Or better yet, I'd just pull my car around near the gates and watch and wait. If anyone came to Satvik's vehicle in the next few hours, I'd confront them. I put the clipboard back and made my way toward the front.

As I crossed the room, I was so focused on my thoughts—the note and the car—that I didn't notice the light at first. A glimmer out of the corner of my eye.

I turned my head.

One of the offices near the entrance. Light poured through a half-open doorway.

It hadn't been there moments earlier. I was certain of it.

I stopped.

The note fell from my hands and wafted to the floor.

“Satvik,” I said.

There was no response.

Somebody had turned that light on. I wasn't alone.

“Satvik, is that you?” Louder this time. I took a step toward the open door, a single step. It was the silence that stopped me. The utter, total silence.

I stood frozen in place. I'd spoken loud enough to be heard, but there was no response. And there wouldn't be one. I suddenly knew, somehow, that whoever was in that room, it wasn't Satvik.

I took a slow step backward.

And then the entire world came apart.

*   *   *

A thump I felt in my skeleton.

The shock wave moved through me, lifting me off my feet.

I hit, and then there was no sound. None at all. Not even a ringing, as my face rested on the cool tile floor—

My bathroom. Morning light pouring in—a smooth, hard surface on my cheek, like a dream. I tried to lift my face to the porcelain bowl to puke again, but I couldn't seem to do it. The floor felt so good and so cool, and the air was so hot—and the ringing started. My ears rang so loud I couldn't think.

My eyes opened to a glow. Pieces of missing wall. Orange flare in the background. I tried to think, but nothing made sense. I was in the storage building, not my bathroom. I coughed—a wracking gasp—as pain shot through my chest. At first, I assumed my ribs were broken. There is a moment after a bad fall when the body tries to discover if it will live or not. The first few gasps of air. A heart that keeps beating or doesn't. Bones that move smoothly or grate against their own parts.

It happened for me lying on the floor as the fire bloomed around me.

My eyes blurred—a glow like halos fuzzing my vision.

I winced and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, the fuzziness was still there.

I tried to roll, and my body moved—the pain no better and no worse, and so I lay my hands on the tile, trying to stand up, trying to get some purchase on existence—and the light seemed to grow and spread. Bright orange flames. And above it, and out of it, billowed dark smoke.

And then the coughing came again, as the smoke rolled across me, and all I could think was
fire
. Jesus,
move
. But my body didn't seem to work.

The smoke grew thicker as the fire sizzled and popped. At that moment, the sprinklers went off. It seemed to make no difference.

I tried to stand again, and this time I got to my knees as the water came down, soaking my clothes, while the air filled with a choking cloud. I climbed up on one leg. My lungs burned. My eyes burned. I couldn't see at all, tears streaming down my face.

I stumbled toward an open office, slamming the door behind me, sucking air. I stripped off my shirt and stuffed it under the door, trying to keep the smoke out. I wiped at my eyes with the backs of my hands, but the burning was still there. What was that burning? What kind of accelerant had they used?

I went to the window, but it didn't open. It was a single pane of glass—no hinges, no latch.

“Fuck.” Safety glass.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I needed to think. Around me, I could feel the air growing warmer. I flung the door open and sprinted to the right, driven by the flames. At the far end, through blurry eyes, I spotted a door marked
UTILITIES
. Or it might have said that.

My hand found the doorknob, and I dove inside. Here, at last, the air was cool and fresh. The only sound was the sound of my ragged breathing. I pulled my cell from my pocket and opened it for light. Its green face lit up the darkness.

I was in a narrow access corridor that ran behind the offices. It seemed to run the length of the building. I moved fast. Although the air was better here, I could still smell the smoke. Even in the sealed corridor, the temperature was beginning to rise. Sprinkler or no, the building was going to burn.

I passed a long bank of fuse boxes. I ducked around water pipes and electrical cables. When I got to the far end, there was another door. Beyond it, I could hear the fire, like distant surf, crackling and crashing, a rising static.

I put my hand to the steel door and yanked it back. There was no going that way. The fire was moving quickly. Far more quickly than I would have expected.

I glanced around, searching for some answer, some way out, and that's when I saw the ladder connected to the wall. I pointed the dim glow of my cell upward, and the ladder lost itself in darkness over my head. A narrow tube leading up.

Without much choice, I climbed.

At the top of the ladder was a platform and a short stairway leading to a steel hatch in the ceiling. I put my shoulder against it and pressed. Nothing.

I pressed again, putting every ounce of strength into it. Sweat poured from my face. The hatch didn't budge.

I collapsed back on the platform, breathing hard. Smoke was rising up from below, choking me so I pointed my cell at the hatch, and that's when I saw the handle—a simple steel latch. I cursed my stupidity and pulled, and the hatch came free with a loud clang, pushing up and over, and I was suddenly out under a dark sky, and the air was so clean and sweet that I could barely believe it.

I got several feet across the roof before I fell to my knees, gasping. The in and out of air through my burning windpipe. I could feel the exact shape of my lungs.

When I stood, the world swayed a bit, and I staggered to the edge of the building to look down. The reality of the situation struck home. I was on the roof of a burning warehouse. The roof was maybe twenty-five feet from the ground. Too far to jump, unless there was no other choice.