This choice: Don't tell Curt about Jon • Go Back...Chapter #27Some Final Pieces by: imaj   You open your mouth to tell him, to spill out the secret of what happened to Jon but nothing comes out. It would be reckless, you think. You’ve always tried to avoid being reckless, instead preferring caution. Maybe you could try sounding him out first?
You settle down in a plush leather armchair beside the couch Curt is lounging on. “Jon said you were coming,” you say diffidently.
“Hmmm,” he replies noncommittally. “You’re home early. Good day at work?” He picks up the remote and aims it at the television.
“Didn’t feel too good,” you murmur. In fact, you are distracted by what you see on the television. It’s no longer showing the football game, but something that looks like a security camera recording. With mounting horror you realise it is security camera footage, and from the laboratories at Protean Industries as well. You watch yourself bypass the security scanner and place the flash devices Hal gave you in the Kardios and Asterion laboratories.
“What I don’t understand, Monique,” says Curt coldly. “Is why.” You turn to look at him. He’s pulled a gun from somewhere, a horrible little snub nosed thing that is pointed firmly at you. “We gave you everything,” he adds. “All this.” The gun never wavers in his hand. “All you needed to do was take the in vitro treatment. A little splash of my seed and you’d have produced another heir for me.”
You frown at this. “I don’t understand,” you bluff. In reality your mind is racing, thinking through what Curt has just said. The implications are chilling. The intention of that in vitro fertilisation that Jon kept trying to push Monique towards was never to overcome what problems ‘Jon’ and Monique had. It was to let them substitute in Curt’s sperm and fertilise one of Monique’s eggs with it instead. You can’t deny that it would have been a way around dealing with the fake Jon’s inability to reproduce.
But it means that Curt Straussler knew, at the very least, something was wrong with his son. The question is, how much did he know?
“Can’t be helped now though,” continues Curt, barely paying attention to you. “We’ll just need to find another wife for Jon. I’m truly sorry it’s happened this way,” he tells you insincerely. “You know, right now I’ve got men searching for your accomplices. That’s the only reason you got this far, but you could make it easy if you tell me who they are and why you did it.”
You gently feel for Curt’s emotions. Arrogance is there in spades, confidence too. He’s in command of the situation and he knows it. You send a little spurt of Eldibria’s power at the man, looking to erode his self-confidence. You don’t worry about Hal and the others. They’ll have to look after themselves for now.
“Jon isn’t Jon,” you say, playing up your nervousness, pretending to be more scared than you are really. “He’s not the man I fell in love with.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” answers Curt testily as your Eldibria work starts to chip away at his emotions. You try to keep calm as you process the revelation: He knows that Jon is a fake. “It was my price.”
It’s getting hard to hide your surprise at what Curt is saying now. His price? His price for what? You push hard at his emotions now, not caring if he realises he’s being manipulated. You let his guilt wash higher.
“Your price,” you say. Puzzlement comes easily to you, and you only have to overact it a little.
“Fane, girl,” he explodes, the gun finally veering wildly in his hands. “My price for my assistance. My son back. My Son! Even if he only is a cheap copy, at least it’s something till I can father another heir. That and the committee…”
Curt pauses, his mouth hangs open for a second. His eyes go cold and hard and when he speaks again he is firmly in control. “You did that, didn’t you,” he says coldly, pointing the gun at you with a rock steady hand. “How?”
You say nothing and try pushing with Eldibria again. You feel a sudden resistance, like an iron wall has slotted into place between you.
“You’re with them aren’t you,” he asks venomously. You can almost see the thoughts working their way through his mind as he considers it all. “Are you even really Monique?” The gun barks a little sharp retort.
As your hand reaches up the sooth the stinging pain in your shoulder your first thought is to wonder where all the blood is coming from. Your second thought is the unpleasant realisation that it is your blood. Thought number three has you wondering why your legs are giving out beneath you. Your vision fades and the last thing you see is Curt Straussler leering above you.
*****
You float in the darkness. There is an airlessness here, a sense of a complete absence of anything. You are utterly and entirely alone.
But then you remember, you are never alone.
Clouds part high above you and Sulva appear. It’s silver glow at once both illuminates and warms you. Though you still float aimlessly, and though you can still see nothing except yourself and Sulva, you are somehow more assured. Relaxed, you begin to take stock of your situation and realise that you are not entirely alone.
Monique Straussler is here too. Though barely a few steps away she is so shrouded in darkness as to barely be noticeable. She is like a wax doll, pallid and lifeless. You know for certain now that she is dead. This version of her anyway, the one you have worn for the last few days. Something tugs at her and she fades backwards, sinking into the darkness.
You open your eyes.
Frank stands above you. “Are you ok Will,” he asks, offering a hand which you gratefully accept. He hauls you stiffly to your feet. You glance back at where you lay. The white carpet is stained with ugly red-brown pool of blood, but even now it is fading as if it had never been there at all.
You look at yourself. Monique’s clothes are all stretched over Will Prescott’s body. Of the gunshot wound in your shoulder, there is no sign. Can it really be that easy to escape your own death? “I’m fine, I think,” you reply. You close your eyes and meditate for a few seconds, checking the status of your imago collection. Monique’s imago is faded and lifeless. It seems unlikely you’ll be able to use it again, so you purge it from your collection. Her memories fade away as you open your eyes. “Straussler?”
“Over there,” nods Frank in the direction of one of the couches. Curt Straussler lies in a heap beside it, the only indication of life is the motion his chest up and down as he breathes. Frank, you note, hold’s Curt’s gun loosely in one hand.
“I owe you one then,” you smile weakly. “How did you know to come here?”
“Hal noticed something odd about the data he was getting through from those doodads he had you put in the Protean computers,” explains Frank. “I don’t know what he was talking about, but it amounted to that they knew he was in their system.”
“All three,” you ask.
“Just two,” replies Frank shaking his head. “The last one you placed seemed to be fine. I think that’s how Hal spotted it. Dad had me come over to check on you.”
“Lucky for me you did,” you reply.
“Yeah,” answers Frank monosyllabically.
“I want to get some answers out of this guy,” you say, indicating Curt. “He knew everything.”
“Be my guest,” says Frank with an abrupt nod.
Curt Straussler groans as you walk over to him, slowly lifting himself up. His face is a map of cuts and bruises, his expensive suit ruined. His eyes flick about, examining you closely, taking in Monique’s clothes on your body and the flickering of your sigils on your finger tips. You reach forward, ready to place your finger on his forehead and devour all his secrets.
Curt moves surprisingly fast for a beaten man. You almost expect a last attack and jump backwards from him. No attack comes though, instead he raises a hand to his throat and makes a slicing motion with it.
Violet coloured sparks erupt all over Curt Straussler’s body, crackling and burning him with a blistering heat. You have to shield your eyes as he burns. Then he slumps to the ground once more, dead.
“What the fuck,” mutters Frank.
“Fuck,” you curse. “Suicide spell. I’ve seen it before, in China.” You sigh and stare at the floor. “Dammit. Now what?”
“I’ll call Dad,” answers Frank tersely, pulling out his cell phone. You pace the room anxiously as he explains the situation to Charles, Monique’s clothes feeling uncomfortable on your body. After a few minutes Frank ends the call and puts the phone back in his pocket.
“Well,” you ask.
“Dad wants us to…”  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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