The Raven Gang (Noble Animals Book 1) Page 3

  The strangest thing to him about it was that he had never been through anything nearly to that degree. He was completely covered in guilt. How he mercilessly experimented on all the-.

  Why had he even done it? Why? He didn’t know. It was not easy to convince himself of that.

  His fist slammed against his forehead.

  It was all for the money. It was to be able to buy a two story, four-bedroom home in the best part of San Francisco. It was to buy the stupid ring with a giant rock inside for his wife’s engagement ring. No! That wasn’t it. It was purely scientific interest. Yes. That’s what he cared about the most. Ugh! He wouldn’t accept either answer. That was probably what all the Nazi scientists would say. The ones who did all those horrific experiments on people whom they considered “inferior”.

  He shook his head vigorously and tried to shake the thoughts away. A loud noise drew his mind back to reality, like a gunshot in a library, and he looked down to find a picture frame smashed on the tiled floor. Looking down at it were two people who were carrying his old wooden desk away upstairs so they could make room for a few chairs to be set up when he gave his presentation. These two people were his sister and his next-door neighbor who was married and a father of two loud children. The man’s name always escaped Dr. Black’s memory, and he would kick himself for forgetting and for just not being social enough to remember such trivial details.

  “Oh! I’m sorry, Jeff.” his wife Laura exclaimed with her palm over her mouth. “I’ll pick that right up.”

  “No, I got it.” Dr. Black replied drolly, still struggling to compose himself.

  He walked over, softly pacing himself. Before picking up the frame he took a long stare into the picture of the man inside. It was someone he once knew, a long time ago, but that man was dead. The frame itself was broken.

  “I’m sorry. I assumed if we put it face down on top we wouldn’t have this problem.” The man helping his wife nodded in agreement.

  “Don’t worry. It’s no problem.”

  There were pieces of glass scattered across the floor. Luckily, the pieces were not that tiny, so he was able to carefully collect them all and then safely throw them away in the garbage. After rubbing his palms to ensure no tiny pieces were on his hands, he went back to pick up the picture. It was an old picture of a younger man. Such a memory would no longer give Dr. Black any solace. He picked it up, swatting a few small pieces of glass away, and proceeded towards the trash. His wife stopped him before he could enter into the kitchen, where the trash was.

  “Take good care of that picture. You know that it’s my favorite shot of you! I have the perfect frame to put it in.” she spoke with a happy, caring tone, fully oblivious to her husband’s distress. “I’ll go to the attic to pick it out in just a few minutes. I just need to make the sofa out of the living room.”

  She left the room and came back with another neighbor, who Dr. Black was pretty sure was named Todd. The two of them lifted the brightly colored couch with a southwestern motif to about shoulder height and carried it past the hall. They decided to rest it right in front of the staircase adjacent to the family room that lead to the more private rooms of the house. Dr. Black assumed that that was why they put it there. I’m only sharing some of my knowledge. They don’t need any knowledge on me, he thought. But then again, they would end up down the same dark path.

  Once the business with the furniture was finished, he returned to the kitchen trash bin, giving the photo of his former self one last powerful stare before releasing it. It floated peacefully down into the garbage, like a feather quietly rocking in the wind, landing on top of a paper plate that still had some ketchup on it. Closing the lid on top of the plastic abyss, he headed towards the bathroom to flood water on his face. He wasn’t tired, far from it, but the idea was calming. He couldn’t refuse.

  The bathroom door was briskly opened. The towels hanging on the other side were nearly unhooked by the sudden force. He turned the nozzle on the faucet labeled “c” to specify that turning such a nozzle would make cold water run down to the drain. Twisting the nozzle all the way, the doctor placed his hands under the flowing current, cupping them to gather the maximum volume and in one quick motion, he chugged it on his face, letting many droplets soak into his vest. He turned around and reached for a towel, all the water dripping down his eyes clouded his vision. His hand found one, and rubbed over his face in a slow vertical motion. When it was dry, he overhanded the small fabric onto the floor, not bothering to fold it.

  Looking up, he caught a glance at himself in the mirror. Looking back at him was a man in his early thirties who felt as if he had the life experiences of a man twice his age. One full of guilt, remorse and anger towards the group of people he worked with. People who had the nerve to call themselves “researchers”. Despite that, he somehow kept a young looking face decorated with bright blue eyes and a garden of facial hair that lab clothes seemed to emphasize. He saw that his light brown hair flowed almost down past his eyebrows, giving it the “British invasion” look he had since he was a junior in high school. Dr. Black never bothered to change it. It was his natural style.

  He took one final glance at his reflection before exiting the room, swatting away any leftover drops of water that hadn’t already dried into the expensive cashmere. As he was rounding the corner of the hall, his wife who was silently approaching him from the area his peripheral vision forbade him to view caught him completely off guard. He and let out a small cry of astonishment that surely everyone in the house heard. Laura didn’t take it seriously, for she found his quirks humorous.

  “Hey Jeff, your boss is on the phone for you.” she finished giggling and kept the same happy grin. Dr. Black wondered a lot about the smile. She wore that same expression more than anyone should, even in the darker times. He wondered what kind of expression she would try on if she were to find out what he had really been doing the last few years. All the things and people he hurt. That was way before we were even engaged, he thought.

  He stuttered audibly before answering, “Uh sure, I’ll just pick it up from the phone in the bedroom. Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting any longer.” he said staring deeply at the floor. He thanked her and walked toward the stairs. Before he mounted the first stair, Laura called out to him.

  “Ask him about the next time he could come over and have dinner with us. He is such a pleasure. I tell you, if I wasn’t married...” She laughed to herself.

  “Of course. You remember how much he loved your spinach casserole?”

  Dr. Black knew exactly whom she was talking about, but the man who’d met with them several times for dinner wasn’t his boss. It was a young guy, about five trips around the sun older than he was, who wore his hair short and had a face that expelled youthful determination.

  He called himself Glen Richards, who was supervisor of the lab where Black told everyone he worked. He was sure that wasn’t his real name. His real boss couldn’t just show himself to everyone, especially an employee’s wife. It was a lie, but at least it kept everybody in line and on his boss’s good side.

  The first thing he saw upon entering the room was the black colored landline resting over the cloth covered desk it shared with the lamp. The light above the speaker blinked a malevolent red, as if it knew the vicious intent of the man on the other line. A wave of emotions soaked him as he reached down and picked it up. Dr. Black pressed the button below the light, transferring the call.

  “Hello, Dr. Black,” the deep distorted voice in the small speaker greeted.

  “Good evening, Elohim.” Dr. Black slowly stroked the back of his neck, which was already condensed with sweat.

  “I hope you’ve had a good day so far. I want a final confirmation that you have come through with everything I’ve asked.” the voice’s tone was unchanging.

  “All is in order, sir. The kid, Gary Frost, has confirmed. He will arrive tomorrow at the sched
uled time.”

  There was a slight pause on the other line. Elohim was probably going over everything in his head right now. No, Dr. Black thought. He knows how everything is going to turn out. He got the sinking feeling that even on the other side of the phone, his mind was being read. The voice could tell he had been so regretful and unstable the past few weeks.

  The voice returned with the same composure. “Very good. We hope to have you back in very shortly. Do have a good Thanksgiving.” The seasonal wish sounded like a threat.

  The voice died along with the fuzzy static in the speaker, signaling that the conversation was over. Dr. Black slowly placed the phone back on the machine. He knew Elohim knew everything about him. He surely knew everything that had come into his mind over the last few weeks, which he hoped would be for the best. But it wasn’t. They never would. He would never be able to escape. As he saw it, he only had one chance. Perhaps he could use the party to his own advantage. Yes, he would try to beat Elohim. Dr. Black knew that the term “Elohim’’ was a biblical old testament term for God, whom he always envisioned a benevolent and forgiving figure of hope and redemption, but the old testament God was a vengeful and jealous one, who would reign down disaster on him, and the world.

  5

  “Watch that Watch”

  The rest of the night had been uneventful since Patrick left the coffee lounge. He had continued to converse with Slate and Lindsey until they all emptied their cups and left, but not without leaving a collective five-dollar tip in the container labeled “Tip Jar”. Before exiting they were caught off guard by the rushed return of Gary to the building. He didn’t order anything. He planted himself by one of the corner tables, immersed in a book he pulled out of his inside vest pocket. It was rather odd seeing the guy in subtle distress. Patrick didn’t want to be the one to somehow provoke him in his more unstable state. He walked out of the lounge with his two friends, uncomfortably staring back at him.

  Back at his dorm, he decided to fulfill the holiday spirit by watching a movie. He ended up choosing Dead Poets Society upon a random selection, a result that pleased him. There was no doubt it was his favorite 80s movie, and it played the crucial role in making Robin Williams his favorite actor. Overall, Patrick didn’t know which character he could relate to the most. Mr. Keating was a passionate, radical teacher who helped inspired him to always live life to its capacity and spread the joy, the kind of joy that can help a friend with depression or make a quick one-liner to set his peers bursting with laughter.

  Then there was Neil, the kid who went against his father’s wishes and took the lead role in a school production. At the age of nine, Patrick made the miserable change suddenly finding himself with only one parent. As hard as it was, he came to terms with the situation and never put the blame on anyone. His father wasn’t much of a stern disciplinarian like Neil’s though. That was not the concept he sympathized with. What brought out the powerful emotions was the idea of something holding him back. But this thing did not take any physical form, but lay cellularly dormant in the back of his mind. Aware of it or not, everything he experienced was responsible for his current feelings. As with many other people, the bad ones had a habit of flashing the brightest. It was all of his experiences dragging him down. It was the accumulation of all his false perception, even when it wasn’t logical. He was the only one stopping himself in the end.

  The many negative ideas aside, he thought that he was improving. He had chosen to go to Weller College on a bet with himself. It wasn’t a driving distance from his home, so he knew he would have to stay on campus and socialize. The college’s academic reputation seemed slightly out of reach for Patrick as a high school senior, but he risked it. He didn’t have that much money, and his grades were just above average, unlike Johnny, who probably got in because of money and certain connections.

  In October Patrick had declared himself a chemistry major, which was terrifying at first. Chemistry was a subject he long thought easily eluded him. Against all odds, he maintained B averages in his classes, even in physics and calculus, and found it was something he could love just as much as any other passion.

  With all of these going through his mind, he closed his laptop at the rolling credits for the movie, gently placed it down under the bed by his shoes and fell asleep with his clothes on.

  When next he opened his eyes he was lying on rocky gravel. Patrick flipped himself around, confirming to his wonder that he was no longer on his multi-padded mattress, but on broken concrete with bulbous tree roots sprouting from below the sidewalk. The entire scene was surreal, as if he were Neo waking up from the Matrix. The location was familiar. It was the area near the center fountain of Weller campus, only the tree there that he knew so well had grown, extending all over as if stretching after a long sleep. It took out most of the sidewalk with just a couple bulging roots.

  But that wasn’t the strangest thing.

  The entire campus and every building across the street were slowly being crumbled down by many years of corrosion. The scene was like something out of a zombie apocalypse film, only without the zombies. There was absolutely no human or animal life as far as Patrick’s 20/20 vision could see. The great campus that once housed many a brilliant alumnus and the rest of the world, had been mercilessly conquered by rogue plants. Vines large enough to swing from were hanging in a creepy formation over every building that could serve as a nurturing home. Much of the lower areas were obscured by five-foot-tall grass.

  Patrick’s heart was racing and the silence was deafening. He rubbed his sweaty palms against the side of his jeans anxiously before hesitantly advancing towards the grass. This reminded him of something a character at the beginning of a video game, once said to the player: stay out of the tall grass. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a video game. He didn’t even know if it was a dream. Everything felt real. From the pain in Patrick’s chest from his pounding heart to the beads of sweat rolling down the back of his neck, everything was authentic.

  The tall grass was easy to get through, not counting the fallen vine he almost tripped on. The grass was so thick Patrick almost didn’t see the peeling walls of the building. He pounded on the exterior with a balled fist. The wall was quite shallow but breaking it down was unnecessary. Below was a small entrance to the cavernous basement, like a portal to the underworld.

  He bent forward to a sharp acute angle to allow his eyes a view inside. What was once a functioning floor was too dark to see from his perspective. Cupping his hands under the top of the opening, he carefully fell feet first onto the floor. His legs could not support him in the landing so his right shoulder was the second part of his body to hit the creaking floor. Patrick quickly recovered, and brushed himself off.

  It was at that moment that Patrick decided he would never take a flashlight for granted again. He couldn’t even see the back of his hand right in front of his face. His other senses were working well, as he detected a strong scent of cigarette smoke taking up the volume of the room. He turned his head to the right quickly enough to see the flickering flame go out while the dim red light the cigarette gave off with each inhale was constant.

  Patrick quietly took slow steps towards the small flame, careful not to trip on any potential object on the invisible floor. As he got closer, he stretched out his hand, hoping to make contact with whoever was smoking. The first thing he felt was some fabric that felt like a cloak. Immediately afterwards the smoking figure coupled itself around. The figure could not be made out in the dark, and it spoke before Patrick could process any more.

  “Mr. Buchanan,” it laughed. “I was hoping to see you. You are much younger than the last time we met.”

  He was taken aback. “How do you know it’s me? I can’t even see you and you’re standing right in front of me!”

  The figure spoke in the same confident tone “I can see you quite well, kid.” For a moment Patrick thought he saw a glow of eyes in the darkness, re
d, like the tip of a burning cigarette. “And I heard you coming from a mile away. Buchanan, you sometimes think of yourself as the loneliest man on earth, and you have an inextinguishable desire to make the world a better place than it was when you came into it. Yes, I know a lot about you”

  Things were getting too spooky for Patrick. The strange smoking, psychic, all seeing eye of a figure was not making him feel well. But he wasn’t about to run. He wanted answers. “Who are you? How the hell do you know me? And why can’t I wake up from this dream?” he asked, his volume growing louder with every question.

  The figure hesitated, giving Patrick the odd sense he offended the being. “What makes you so sure it’s a dream?” it asked. “Does it not feel like any other reality you have ever known? And what makes a dream any less real than reality?”

  It took another inhale of the cigarette. The bright red light came back for a couple seconds, and then retreated. Whoever was on the other side of the darkness exhaled audibly.

  “You know what the most interesting thing about this world of ours is? Everyone is insane. Completely bonkers! This world winds us up like a toy and then lets us go, then does it again over and over and over again till we’re all crazy. Moreover, it’s really all the sane ones who do go crazy. Any fellow in their right mind would go crazy. The worst ones are the ones that don’t even know how insane they are. They’re too stupid to realize!” the figure laughed villainously. Patrick retreated a few steps backwards and almost tripped on a wooden board. The noise echoed down the hallow walls.

  The mystery being took notice. “Leaving so soon kid?”