Chapter 22 – Jack and Bobby
After spending the remainder of the day looking for Jack, Ashley and Geoff found themselves at the far edge of the forested canyon. They had reached the northern tip of Beverly Hills, the flat expanse of the Los Angeles basin stretching away from them.
Ashley and Geoff stared out at the city, shocked by the lights, traffic and swell of pedestrians. They were allowed to play close to home, and while they pushed the envelope in the forest, the children had never dared to hop the gate and cross into the forbidden-city.
Some pedestrians noticed their abrupt appearance, looking at them as if they were some wild forest creatures. Streaked with dirt and sweat, with bits of leaf in their hair, Ash pulled Geoff back into the forest.
"But Ash, what if Jack's out there?" Geoff said.
Ash thought of how she'd last seen the dog, he'd been rabid. She was afraid he'd gotten his leash caught in a thicket and strangled. Ashley thought she'd been listening, but the noise of the encroaching city had long since drowned out any sounds made by a panicked dog.
Ash began to despair they wouldn't find him.
Geoff tugged at her arm, looking back at the city. He seemed determined that Jack had gone that way. Ashley refused to entertain him. She'd been overwhelmed by the people and the traffic. She always wondered why people stayed out of the forest. She was glad they did.
Ashley looked down the trail. The tall trees formed natural arches overhead, light spilled down, shadows waving, the breeze rustling the limbs. Birds chirped and fluttered about with butterflies.
That was when she saw it. Jack's leash, tangled in a thicket, but there was no Jack.
"Geoff," Ashley said, pointing to the leash.
"Oh, that's his... JACK! JACK!" he yelled into the darkening forest.
It was getting late, closer to rush hour, and the sounds of the city traffic intruded, drowning out his call.
"Ash, we have to find him! He could be lost or scared!”
Geoff was beginning to melt down. Ashley could see it coming. "Come on," she said. Together they picked the cord out of the brush.
"He's out there, Ash." Geoff stared out into the city.
"No, Geoff. He's a smart dog. He'll go home. I bet he'll be waiting for us. Come on, we have to go.”
"Ashley, please," he cried.
Unable to argue or insist he come with her, Ashley put her arms around him. She led him away from the city, back uphill. Ashley walked at his pace, and Geoff stayed with her. Going up was so much harder than going down. To his credit, Geoffrey didn't complain.
Now Ashley understood why people didn't come into their part of the forest. The steep climb was a natural barrier. They watched their shadows grow long under the afternoon sun.
At the top of the slope, back on familiar ground, Geoffrey got a second wind.
"I miss him already," he said.
"I know. Me too," Ashley said.
The pair got home just before dark. They'd wandered far across the canyon and came up the shallow side of the neighborhood, surprising their parents when they entered through the front door.
The faintest light hung in the air, thirty seconds later it was gone. Dinner was already on the table.
Ashley's mom took the leash without question as to Jack's whereabouts. Ash and Geoff were told they were filthy and chased upstairs to wash. No one made any jokes.
Pierce's blood, which had splattered all over Ashley, had either crusted off or faded in the failing light. It wasn't noticed until Ashley saw it in the sink; the first handful of water came back pink against the porcelain.
The second rinse turned red, but the third was almost clear.
Geoff turned to look outside and saw Jack, scratching his ear in the back yard. He screamed the dog's name and sprinted from the bathroom. He bounded down the stairs, yelling the dog's name all the way.
Jack seemed normal, barked normal and wrestled with Geoffrey. All normal. Ashley was glad the beagle was back. Once she got over Geoff's scream, she also realized, smiling, that she had the bathroom to herself.
Bobby Dunkirk woke near a puddle of vomit he instinctively recognized to be his own. He sat up, coughed and shook his head. The revolver was gone. He stumbled to his feet and reached into his pocket. Bobby pulled out his fist and opened it to reveal six shiny brass shells. Three were hollow and empty, spent. The other three were filled with the heavy copper-coated rounds, artifacts of an ancient time. Only the richest citizens carried revolvers and old-school bullets.
The bullets held Bobby's gaze, speaking in a wordless language, alien concepts filling his mind. After several minutes of silent communication, he pocketed the heavy chunks of metal and made his way home.
During dinner, Ashley was transfixed by the black rectangle lying next to her father's plate. She looked at him. He was eating, happy and calm.
Ash was tempted to pull out the uncomfortable hunk of black metal in her own pocket, but didn't. She remembered his order, never to touch it, under any circumstances. Ash looked at his rectangle, it was different from the one she'd found.
After dinner, alone in her room with the door closed, Ashley sat at her desk. Staring at the overhead clock, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the prototype. The clock didn't stop. She stared at it for a long time, almost a minute. The second hand never even ticked slowly; it just kept cruising, perfectly.
Ash looked at the device. It was almost identical to her father's. Ash noticed that the button placement was just a little different. This rectangle had some curving to it and beveled edges. When she looked at it closely, she saw it also had dozens of seams.
The button was hard; it took some effort to press it down into the device. She wrapped both hands around it and used one thumb atop the other to force the button down. She was met with a loud crack of metal, as a wicked-sharp blade snapped out through the end.
Ashley looked at the clock. It kept ticking.
She looked up to see her father enter the room. "So, it found you."
"What?" Ashley asked, rattled.
"I knew sooner or later it would, ” Dr. Fox said. “ I tried to stop it, but I guess there was nothing I could do. I thought it would choose Geoff.”
"What are you taking about?" Ashley asked.
Her father blinked.
Ashley held up the knife. "What is this?" she asked.
"That's a knife," he replied.
"Is it yours?" she asked, holding it flat in her hand.
"No, this is mine," he said, producing the item she'd seen him with at dinner. "Where did you get that?" he asked.
"What?”
"Where did you get that?”
"It fell out of the sky,” she said, with open sarcasm.
"Really?”
"There was a man attached to it,” she added.
Fox laughed and brushed the blue stained scar over his eye.
Ashley took a deep breath.
"It's a tool, a weapon, an eating utensil. It's up to you, really," he said.
Ashley looked down at it.
Ash sat up in bed, in her pajamas, the lights off. She'd had a nightmare. It was after midnight. She stood up beside her bed. The moonlight spilling through the windows lit the room well enough for her to see. She listened to the house. She didn't hear anything.
She thought about earlier that night, trying to remember what had happened. Her eyes were drawn to the first drawer of her desk. She remembered getting ready for bed and looking at the object. The button hadn't done anything at all. It wasn't a knife, and her father had never entered the room.
Ashley had taken it into his study and asked him what it was. He said it was a data drive. He hadn’t shown the slightest interest in it.
Ashley stared at the desk. She crossed the room and opened the center drawer. The object was lying right where she'd left it.
She picked it up. It was heavy and serious.
The clock didn't stop.
She pressed the button. She pressed it hard.
It did nothing.
She pulled a pencil out from her desk, discarded it for a tougher metal pen and jammed down on the button. A port at the front end of the device opened up. She jammed the button with the pen a second time and with a loud rusty thwack, the blade popped out.
It was shiny black, serrated near the hilt, grooved with a polished silver blood gutter. Ashley stared at it. She knew, without a doubt, she had never seen it before, not in her waking life, anyhow.
The button had risen up, even with the smooth surface of the case again. Ashley pressed it a second time. It went down easily, and the blade retracted with another crack.
Ashley put the knife back in the drawer. It looked out of place, surrounded by her pens, pencils, erasers and more-feminine possessions. She stared at it for a long moment before sliding the drawer closed.
An hour or so earlier, Bobby arrived home, entering the vast white structure through the kitchen. He went up the back stairs and into his private bathroom, decorated with shades and hints of blue.
He stood the six bullets in a single, horizontal line, the copper coated loads on the left, the three, empty, fired shells, on the right. He spent a few minutes just watching them, first focusing on them and then on their reflection in the mirror.
Bobby stripped out of his clothes and took a shower. When he got out, the steam had obscured the mirror, but the bullets stood gleaming. They seemed to be in tune with his soul. They calmed him and yet excited him at the same time. He felt empowered and captivated by their presence.
The boy dried himself and combed his hair, flat, back and to the side. It was how his mother did it. He didn't like it, but it was out of his eyes. Bobby flossed and brushed his teeth. Usually he avoided these chores. Tonight he did them thoroughly, exactly as they should be done.
Bobby pulled on his pajamas and a massive white terrycloth robe. He scooped up his bullets and carried them, his hands in his pockets, over to his bed. He climbed across it to the window. He stood the shells on the wooden sill. Carefully, he opened the window behind them.
Ill at ease, he moved the shells. Seeing them sitting there like that, something about it bothered him. He found the latches securing the window screen and pushed it out, into the canyon below.
Now the bullets were arranged before the open sky. He watched the moonlight reflecting off their surface. He fell asleep watching them.