The Aquaguardians - Chapter 1

{{center}b}CHAPTER 1—DR. CALVIN THOMAS{/b}{/center}











    The fog thickened as moisture clouded the air, but there were still people on the Long Island beach.  It seemed as though nothing could keep them away from the shore. Orange and yellow rafts floated with children on board; inner tubes barley able to remain afloat carried large women; beached husbands occasionally peered out at the blue-green expanse in the attempt to spot their wives.  Variations of recreational activities were used by those who wished to stay out of the water.

        Cal Thomas sat on his couch waiting for the mail to come.  He had        awakened late. And today was an important day. He stood and slowly walked over to the window. The lighthouse flashed, and he could hear a foghorn in the distance.  He squinted his blue eyes in the attempt to locate the source of the mournful sound.  Unconsciously, his sun-reddened hand found its way to his receding hairline and traveled down his shoulder-length graying blond



hair.  His eyes focused on the mist as he mentally created the now-invisible shoreline.

    He thought of the whale that had been washed ashore two days earlier. He wanted to believe that a ship had struck it or that it had merely lost its way, but he knew that it hadn’t.  Instead, he knew the garbage people had been dumping in the ocean for decades had poisoned it.

    His anger rose as he recalled the dead sea creatures and hospital waste, which washed up daily onto his beach, in his backyard. Cal knew all of this had to end. Someone had to correct the damage.  People didn’t care any more.  Even though he could not see the water because of the4 fog, he visualized the rainbow oil slick, which blanketed the sea.  The damn ocean’s oily enough to be used as car oil, he mused indignantly.

    “Dr. Thomas,” a voice from behind called.  Cal turned to see his stubby, elderly assistant.

    “What is it, Seymour?” Cal asked.

    “The mail, sir,” he said as she extended his hand.

    Cal snatched it quickly, hoping that the letter from the Army was among the pile.  He searched rapidly, throwing all unimportant mail aside until he found his prize. He opened it and read the words for which he had waited a week:

     

 

Dear Dr. Thomas:

                          We are pleased to inform you that we are interested in your formula, MRX III.  However, we require that it be changed to have a long-term effect.  Col. R. Hargly will be supervising the project and will see that you receive the Army’s cooperation.

    He had been hoping for this acceptance. The only fly in the ointment would be Hargly.  But there would be benefits, too.  He would be able to see Eleanor more frequently.

    Cal crumpled the letter and threw it on the floor.  He headed down the stairs leading to his lab in the basement of his two-story home.  There wasn’t much time; he had to get started.  Too much time had elapsed already.  Fish were washing ashore by the thousands, depriving people of a protein source because it wasn’t safe to eat one of nature’s most bountiful foods.

    As these thoughts raced through Cal’s mind, he knew he didn’t want to change the world for its inhabitants.  As far as he was concerned, they deserved what they received; it was a result of their stupidity and greed.  No, not for people -- only for Eleanor.

    Cal worked meticulously.  After several hours, he decided to break for a cigarette.  He looked at his formula and noticed the change in color.  It was now a beautiful shade of blue – almost turquoise.

    He picked up the day-old newspaper, which he had neglected to read and snorted derisively as the headline story glared at him. It dealt with a young man who had been shot while looking to buy a used car.  He shook his head disgustedly and threw the paper to the floor, exposing a photo of neighborhood youths standing on cars and brandishing baseball bats, their mouths forever fixed in sneers as they shouted racial epithets.

    For an instant, Cal thought of smashing the vial against the wall and watching the brilliant blue splatter. These animals should be forced to care for themselves.  But he crushed this thought along with his cigarette, and walked over to finish his job.  He realized that there was only one person worth saving—Eleanor

    Ever since his parents died, he had cared for his beloved sister.  He had sent her to college, helped her with her organic chemistry classes, and stood by her when she decided to marry Roger, an army lieutenant.  Cal knew, though, that Roger did not appreciate her, not the way he did.  He resented the child-like way, in which Roger treated her, and he felt that Kurt, his ten-year-old nephew, was the real reason Roger had married Eleanor; he needed a son to carry on his illustrious name.  No, Cal was certain that he was the only one who loved her.

    Cal tried to concentrate.  He had to keep his mind on his work and off these extraneous thoughts, but Eleanor encroached once more.  She had become so frightened lately and he couldn’t bear to have her so upset.  He remembered her wedding day twelve years ago; she was so beautiful.

    A knock on the door brought Cal out of his reverie.  He shouted for the knocker to enter.  The door opened and a young child boldly walked into the lab.  It was his assistant’s six-year-old granddaughter, Sumeaka. 

    “What is it?  I’m busy,” he growled.

    “Colonel Hargly’s here to see you.” she growled back at him.

    Cal glowered at her.  He had never grown accustomed to her attitude.  He wished he could get rid of her.  She was constantly in places she shouldn’t be, peeking through doors, always spying.  But her grandfather was too valuable to him.

    “Send him in.”

    “Fine,” she said, and slammed the door behind her.

    Seconds later, the door opened and a svelte, uniformed Roger walked in. Cal looked up momentarily.

    “What is it, Roger?  Can’t you see I’m busy?” he spat and turned back to his work.

    “I came to tell you that I refused the offer to be the supervisor on your project; I also was granted the transfer I applied for three months ago.  We’re leaving in ten days.”

    Worry engulfed Cal, but his voice was tight, controlled. “Where are you going?”

    “I’ll be working on a base out west.  That’s all you have to know.  I’m tired of you interfering in our lives; Eleanor’s not your wife—she’s mine.”

      Cal remained silent.  Hidden from view, his hands grew white as he clenched them into fists.  He wanted to strike Roger, to throw things, to explode with the fury he felt roiling in his gut, but he didn’t.

    Just as quickly as he entered, Roger left.  Cal turned, shaking with rage, and lit a cigarette. He wanted to follow Roger and kill him, but he knew he had work to do.  Even so, he shouted, “You think you know everything, but nobody knows me!”  Then he saw Sumeaka standing in the doorway regarding him with an amused looked.

    Sumeaka became the focal point of his rage.  “What the hell do you want?”  She remained in the doorway, unafraid of his anger.

    “Well, keep out of my way or you won’t live to be seven,” he threatened.

    “Okay, but I’ll be back,” she retorted defiantly as she slammed the door.

    Cal knew this wasn’t an idle threat, but he wished she would stay clear of him.  She had begun to conjure up those unnatural urges he had tried for so many years to get rid of.  He had been through years of therapy to undo the damage his father had done.

    Cal spent six years in therapy trying to relieve himself of the guilt he’d wrapped himself in to soften the Tyson-like blows he received from his father’s special kind of love.  His guilt came from his inability to hate his father with the lightening rage he knew he should have.  Night after night he’d found himself awakening to the sound of his bedroom door squeaking closed and darkness surrounding him along with his father’s punches.  Hours after it was over he would remain huddled in the corner of his closet with his eyes closed tight and every muscle in his body tensed with the hope that the night would never end to bring about another torturous day.

    He found it impossible to understand how he had smoothed his memories over so well that they now resembled those from a normal childhood.  It had taken him years of psychiatric treatment to realize why he hadn’t hated his father.  His genius had been consummated in that closet—nurtured there in the silent darkness.

    Other men had been poor and their need to escape the slums was their motivation, or some were just genius’ and just needed to prove it to the world.  Cal’s motivation, however, came from a delicate place—a silent place.  That place we all go to escape the horrors within our psyche that we keep hidden from all outsiders to keep them from our smell of life’s droppings.  He was driven by insanity.

    He put out his cigarette and went back to work.  He picked up the beaker, stared at the transparent liquid, and sat down.  He couldn’t concentrate.  He thought how easy it would be to show them all the extent of his power.  People were so stupid, so gullible.  No one would ever know who did it.  Because the world was predictable, the conglomerates would take the blame—and he would blame them. 

    Cal tried to dismiss this vindictiveness, but it refused to be dispelled.  He remembered the picture in the newspaper and thought of all the hate groups who flourished throughout this world.  They were allowed to disseminate their poisons with impunity; why not he?

    As he sat and thought on it longer, he began to wonder why he was wasting his time at all.  He remembered when he first began working on the project.  He had to wine and dine, what seemed like every fat, ugly widow in New York to get backing.  It was their world he was trying to save, what were they thinking?  They have created their own Hell.  What could possibly happen in Hell that hasn’t already happened here on Earth?  Nothing.  Nothing.  Drug dealers are killing children, adult men are turning children into killers for their own greed, and rich men are putting the poor out on the street by stealing what little money they have.  Why should I change the world?  I could let the water continue to rot and let them all die a slow death.  Why should I care?  What’s in it for me?  Sure, I have the power to change the world for good or for bad.  So do they.  If nobody will help to better the world, neither will I.  I could put them out of their misery.  Yes, I could make a big change.  Cal thought, as a grin rose and changed the shape of his face.

    And what of the drug dealers?  I wonder how long they can live after ingesting my chemicals?  He laughed aloud at this without thinking Sumeaka could be standing in the room.  He heard the click of the doorknob.  He swiveled the lab stool to see the door closing.  He grabbed an empty test tube from the table and hurled it at the door and watched as it shattered against the solid oak, scattering shards across the floor.