Chapter 30

Alan Sheppard

The incoming storm looked bad from the airplane; it was worse on the ground. Sleet pummeled the streets of Edinburgh and spattered like phlegm off the cobblestones of the Royal Mile. The low clouds stretched overhead in a solid slate-grey plane from mountain to mountain.

Alan Sheppard hunched against the icy onslaught as he shuffled down the nearly deserted street. He had spent too long in the tropics. He’d forgotten how to toughen up against the cold. He slipped, put off-balance by his backpack, and nearly fell. “Sherlock Holmes,” McFinn had said. “Picardy Place.”

Alan had had the foresight to purchase a heavy waterproof coat before leaving the airport, but it only made a difference for so long. The unrelenting sleet soon soaked Alan Sheppard to the skin.

He was late. Delayed, of course, at the airport. He’d also had to pick up a package, its contents now safe and dry in one of his pockets, clutched in one hand. In his other pocket, held in his other hand, a carved wooden chess piece. The white knight. He had forgotten to put it with the rest of the chess set before he left. He didn’t mind; it reminded him of Heidi. Of why he was here.

By the time he arrived at what he thought was Picardy Place, he was cold, wet, and hungry. But also, he was ready. Ready for Riley McFinn. Out front of the Picardy Place lay a crescent of lawn, an island of green between two roads. Two figures stood out there, both unmoving. One was Sherlock Holmes. The other…

Alan approached until he stood beside the bronze Holmes, facing the shorter stranger. “Are you Riley McFinn?” he asked, his voice raised to overcome the sound of sleet.

The stranger, wearing a woolen overcoat with heavy boots, threw back his hood, revealing a thin, pale, freckled face. Green eyes and red hair. “Yes,” he said. “Alan Sheppard. Welcome to Scotland.” His wan smile indicated that this storm was a poor welcome.

Alan removed the revolver from his pocket and aimed it at Riley McFinn’s heart. “Are you Nikola Raschez?” he asked.

McFinn’s smile faded. “Wrong question, Alan,” he said. Alan Sheppard began to reply but McFinn cut him off. “No, I am not Raschez.” His voice was thin and reedy. Not what Alan expected of such an important man.

“Are you Christmas?” asked Alan Sheppard without moving the gun.

Now Riley McFinn looked only confused. His brows furrowed and he seemed oblivious to the icy downpour plastering his vibrant hair onto his head. “Christmas? This time I don’t know what you mean.”

Alan Sheppard slowly lowered the weapon. His hand shook slightly from the cold. His fingers felt numb around the cold metal. Riley McFinn pulled his hood back up.

“I want answers,” said Alan Sheppard. “Rebecca said you’d shoot straight.”

“That is true,” said McFinn as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I have a policy of honesty.” His smirk made it unclear whether this claim ought to be taken seriously. “I will tell you as much as I can.”

“You mean what you think I need to know.”

The smile returned to McFinn’s face. “Yes. That.” He paused. “Our car is here. Make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to his right. A black limousine pulled up, half-shrouded in the rain.

Alan slid into the back of the limousine. The warm, dark, dry interior suited him just fine. It smelled of leather, a clean smell. Alan could hardly feel the purring of the engine. He replaced the gun in the pocket of his soaked jacket and blew on his hands to warm them up. He couldn’t see the driver. McFinn stepped inside and threw off his coat.

Alan noticed a faint glow in front of him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the interior. A soft purple glow, from one of the cup holders toward the front. He reached out and picked up a small smooth crystal. It pulsed with a subtle light as though refracting an unseen light. Alan knew what it was. Did Riley McFinn just have this stuff lying around?

“McFinnium,” said Riley McFinn as if continuing a casual conversation, “does not belong here. I extract it from another plane of existence. Don’t ask me where. The funny thing is, McFinnium is requisite to procure more McFinnium.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Alan began to ask the obvious question, but McFinn cut him off. “I don’t know where it first came from. Nicholas Carter gave it to me, and as you know he is now deceased. I am merely an inventor; an engineer. He was the true scientist.” McFinn leaned back and tapped the dark glass separating them from the driver. The limousine began to move.

“Nicholas was Rebecca’s brother,” said Alan.

“Half-brother, yes, and Kaitlyn’s father. He…had nothing to do with October Industries.”

“And what about you?” said Alan. “I worked for October Industries and I know that their activities are…”

“Sinister?” suggested McFinn with a smile.

“More than just illegal,” said Alan.

“You are correct,” said McFinn. “Their activities are beyond unlawful. And while it would be misleading for me to suggest that I have no connection to that organization, I can assure you that it is one primarily of…contention.”

“They are using your McFinnium,” said Alan.

McFinn’s mouth twisted as though tasting something sour. “Yes, I have recently been reminded of that.”

“Do you know what happened on January 28 th ?” asked Alan.

Riley was silent for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “What do you already know?”

Alan held up the purple crystal. “It had something to do with this,” he said. “They called it a ‘Breach.’ People were…transformed, somehow. Some of them went crazy. One man, codenamed ‘Black,’ destroyed the entire facility. Most of the staff of the facility died in the accident. I was almost one of them.”

McFinn nodded. “But it was no accident. It was very intentional, although accompanied by unforeseen consequences. Disastrous consequences. Fools. And those strange individuals, including the one who destroyed the facility, they are not from this world.”

Alan frowned at the crystal he held, not sure if he was ready to believe something like that.

“It doesn’t matter if you believe it,” continued McFinn with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The Breach is old news. What matters is what is about to happen. Tomorrow. An event which will render the Breach insignificant by comparison. An event which is also intentional, although this time, inevitable. An event which cannot now be prevented.”

The limousine pulled to a halt. “Kaitlyn has told me that something bad is about to happen. Is this what she’s talking about?” asked Alan. He saw that the limousine had stopped outside the airport. Done already?

“Yes,” said McFinn. “I have named the upcoming event the ‘Cascade.’”

“What is it?” asked Alan. “What’s going to happen?”

“The end of the world,” said McFinn, without hesitation and without humor. He leaned back in his chair. “I will, of course, explain. But after, I believe you should go find Heidi.”

Alan nodded.

And Riley McFinn explained about the end of the world.