Lex, aka Dr. Solora Brighton, taps the toe of her ill-fitting high heel and waits for the elevator to descend. She stares up at the numbers above the metal doors, impatiently waiting for the doors to open. Every moment she spends in this hallway is a moment too long. Scorvo’s large hand comes to rest at the small of her back. Lex jumps at his sudden touch.
“I am sorry,” the disembodied voice says.
“Don’t worry about it,” Lex whispers. “I’m just nervous. It’s not you.”
“The area where the specimens are being kept is underneath the ground. Something called a basement.”
“And just how do you know all of this?” Lex hisses, keeping her voice low and trying hard not to blow their cover.
“That…I cannot tell you!”
The elevator chimes and the doors slowly slide open. A couple of people, a man and a woman, are inside. From the looks of it, they were doing more than just taking a stroll. The woman’s clothes and hair are a mess—and her companion’s tie is lopsided. Lex offers them a knowing smile.
“I’ll catch the next one,” Lex says.
The doors close back and the elevator descends further. Lex looks around before talking out of the side of her mouth.
“You seem to forget, Scorvo…I’m risking my life too! No…More than that. I’m risking my freedom. If I’m caught, I could be thrown in jail. For a very long time.”
“I have not forgotten!”
“Then why all of the secrecy?”
“Because it is better if you do not know. No one can pressure you for information you do not possess.”
“Ha. Really? Then, you don’t know human history. I don’t think I want to test that theory.”
Another chime from the elevator. This time, there are no other riders. Lex climbs into the elevator, Scorvo close behind her. The doors close and immediately soft music issues from the speaker in the topmost left corner. Lex fidgets from side to side as they wait for the elevator to reach the basement. Scorvo watches her with narrowed eyes, relishing in the knowledge that she cannot see him.
-
-
Scorvo enters the chamber where Scar’s prone body once lay atop the altar. He watches as the genetic soup which was once his cha’l brother flows into the drain below. Stepping forward, he grips Scar’s mask in a clawed hand. Scorvo’s eyes flash and his mandibles open and shut in agitation.
“How can this be?” the warrior shrieks in his mind. “How can Scar be dead? And all because of an ooman female? Surely, there is more to it than that?”
Scorvo watches as the last drops of what was once Scar slides into the drain. He whirls on his heels.
“This cannot be!” he hisses aloud.
“But it is!” comes another guttural voice.
Scorvo looks up and meets the gaze of Elder Lthurh.
“Elder!” Scorvo exclaims, bowing his head reverently.
“It was I who gave the ooman female the winner’s hunt-staff. I saw the mark upon her cheek. What the hunt viewers say…Is true.”
“But why?” Scorvo growls, careful to keep his tone respectful.
“Who can know? He is no longer here to tell us. Rest assured that your cha’l brother died as honorably as he lived. He succeeded in his task. The rest is irrelevant.”
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“Yes, Elder!” Scorvo says, bowing his head a second time.
Elder Lthurh sweeps into the room where the Altar of the Fallen is kept. He kneels before the altar and utters the sacred hunt mantra. One of the aged Elder’s hands rests on the altar, the other palm resting against the cold metal floor.
Scorvo watches a moment longer and then marches down the corridor.
-
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Castleton Police Department
Detective Mackey exhales deeply and leans back in his chair. He plants both feet on the desk, hands folded behind his head. Deputy Newsome arrives with their food—two 6-inch subs and piping hot coffee.
Stretching noisily, Detective Mackey drops his feet from the desk and straightens up in his chair. He impatiently waves Deputy Newsome over.
“Come on, come on…I ain’t got all day! Move your ass. What does a guy have to do to get a decent meal around here?”
Deputy Newsome pretends to pull the bag of subs out of reach with a no-nonsense scowl.
“Cut it out, Dave! I’m starved. Give me the freaking sandwich!”
Dave tosses Mackey a sub sandwich, and the detective nods appreciatively.
“Thank you! Now, was that so hard?”
Detective Mackey begins peeling back the decorative wax paper on his catered sub sandwich. Deputy Newsome sets one of the coffee cups down on the edge of the detective’s cluttered desk.
“French Vanilla. Like you ordered.”
“Right. Thanks.”
Mackey takes a large bite out of his sandwich just as the phone on his desk rings loudly. Snatching up the receiver, James hurriedly chews the food in his mouth.
“Mackey here!”
On the other end of the line, Bertram Isaacks mutters almost incoherently.
“Hey, Mack! Got a minute?”
“Sure,” Mackey says, using his tongue to unhitch a piece of lettuce clinging to his teeth. “What you got for me, Bert?”
“Uh…The preliminary report came back on that DNA you sent over. It’s uh…Rather interesting.”
Detective Mackey leans forward, one elbow resting on the desk. He is now paying full attention.
“Interesting…How?”
“Well, it would be a lot easier if I just show you. Can you come to the lab?”
“Yeah. Sure. Give me twenty minutes.”
“Okay, Mack. See you in twenty.”
Bertram hangs up the phone and mops his forehead with the back of one hand.
“So…What’d ole Bert have to say?” Deputy Newsome says through a mouthful of food.
“Not much,” Mackey recounts. “He wants to see us down at the lab. Says he found something interesting. Pack up your food and let’s go. Come on.”
Detective Mackey jumps from his chair and grabs his jacket from a nearby rack. He snatches up the cup of hot coffee and hustles up the aisle of desks. Deputy Newsome looks down at the sub sandwich sitting abandoned amongst files and mugshots.
“What about your sandwich?”
“Don’t want it. Forgot the honey mustard. Come on.”
Deputy Newsome again glances down at the forlorn sandwich. With the speed of a cat, he grabs the unbitten half of Mackey’s sandwich. He follows his officer buddy up the aisle and out of the operations room.
-
-
Forensics Lab
Detective Mackey opens the door to the lab and knocks on it as an afterthought. Deputy Newsome follows his much swarthier counterpart into the lab, gazing around at everything.
“Hey, Bert. What’s so interesting I had to join you in the land of death, depravity, disease, and utter decay?”
“Over here,” Bertram mutters in a panicked voice. “Hey, Dave.”
“Hi,” Dave says, less than thrilled to be in the lab.
Bertram leads Mackey and Newsome to a microscope situated in the center of a table littered with scientific detritus.
“That sample of green stuff you sent me…It’s really weird. The DNA in that sample…It’s a little of everything.”
“A little of everything? I’m not following you, Bert. Try to talk a bit slower.”
“The cells…They’re not one thing or another. Whatever shed that blood—or whatever you call it…Has characteristics from the freaking plant kingdom and the animal kingdom. But mostly insect, reptile, and amphibian DNA. Hell, I nearly peed my pants when I realized it had freaking chlorophyll. It's a jumble of genes. It's all over the place.”
“Chlorophyll?” Dave Newsome questions. “You mean that stuff that comes from cactus?”
Detective Mackey glances askance at Newsome, hoping against all hope that the man is kidding. Deputy Newsome only shrugs. Detective Mackey returns his attention to Bert and shakes his head to get the numbness out.
“I know that you said you collected the sample from an old tree. But this isn’t a case of accidental contamination. The chlorophyll is in the cells. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen. It’s all wrong.”
“Let me get this straight. What you’re saying is…This is no ordinary creature? This isn’t some tiger or a crazed grizzly? This is something…Else?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Bert mutters.
Mackey leans close to Newsome and whispers.
“Told you it wasn’t Bigfoot.”
Bert continues his rant, alternating between waving his arms and wringing his hands.
“Unless this thing is from like Area 51…I doubt it’s even from this planet. It’s that weird!”
“So…Definitely not Bigfoot?”
Deputy Newsome crosses his arms over his chest and glowers at Detective Mackey.
“Definitely,” Bert says definitively.
“When you get the full report…I want it on my desk. Thanks, Bert.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Without another word said, the detective and deputy exit the lab.