Cruel Blue Nowhere Read online

  Back at the computer station, he sat down and stared at the security monitors -- snow banked against the building reflecting yellowish lamplight. Leaning back, he put his hands behind his head, thinking it was going to be a long night. Just then his cell phone chimed and lit up; he grabbed it off the desk, glancing down, puzzled at first.

  He saw what looked like a radar screen with a sweeping red line going around the greenish circle, and said, "What the heck?"

  Then looking closer he realized it was the silly app his nephew had installed on his cell at Christmas: Haunt Detector, it was called. Grinning, Ben was just about to close the app when a red blip appeared, and he heard and saw the word, "Help" pop up. Looking at the circle, he realized the reddish blip was approximately where the storage area would be -- behind him. He sat up straighter, staring at the screen, suddenly curious.

  Standing, he walked toward the door and watched the blip disappear a moment as the radar swept the circle. When he entered the hallway, the blip returned and as he started toward the storage room, the blip got brighter and brighter until the same word popped up on the screen again: "Help."

  At the door, Ben swiped his card and pulled open the door and walked into the storage area, still staring at the cell; he'd forgotten his coat, and shivered, but started down the line of Dewars, the blip growing, blinking in and out, then flaring across the screen before it went bright white and shut off. Looking up, he realized he was standing in front of the container he'd touched and felt a vibration.

  His teeth started chattering as he grew colder and colder, but he simply couldn't move. Reaching out a hand, he put it flat against the container and again, felt a slight vibration. He leaned closer, listening for any odd sound, any defect as his eyes swept up and down the steel surface, no valves or hoses out of place, no digital controls on the front panel showing the least disturbance.

  At last, he stepped back, shook his head and then hurried back to the office. Determined to find out who was stored in that container, he went to the records room, stood at the door, realizing his card would not grant him access. The small room had no windows, and was considered secure, so no reason for security to check on it regular, he knew. But now he was determined to find out who was in that container one way or another.

  Chapter 3

  Several days later, Ben was seated in the monthly meeting with the two other security guards, Tom Henders and Don Samson, as well as three medics, a Denver surgeon, two part-time technicians, a receptionist and the CEO, Henry Oglethorpe.

  Oglethorpe was thin as a whip, bald as a cue-ball, nearly six-foot-five and loomed over everyone as he sat at the head of the table in the conference room.

  "First off, I wanted to thank the medivac team for a timely response for our latest patient. Fortunately, patient 101 was at a nearby hospice and that helped in timing and preparation. Good job guys."

  The medics nodded, one saying, "That's what we're hired for. Went smooth as silk, and that patient should have greater odds of survival too."

  Oglethorpe cleared his throat, then said, "I want to commend all staff for being punctual, carrying out your jobs with precision and enthusiasm." His cold gray eyes landed on Ben who felt himself flinch. "However, I would like to mention an odd occurrence I observed on the security cams in the storage area."

  Ben swallowed hard, his mouth going dry.

  The CEO opened his laptop, turned it to the group and pulled up a view inside the storage area, clicked through several frames then paused on a shot of Ben standing close to a container, putting his hand against it, his mouth obviously moving, then clicking to several other shots of similar activity. "Ben, could you perhaps explain this to us? Did you sense something wrong with the container? It looks like you were speaking also. If there’s a problem with the Dewar, you should have reported it to tech maintenance."

  "Uh," Ben stammered, "I...uh, yeah, I thought I'd been hearing a hiss, as if there might be a nitrogen leak, but none of the digital monitors indicated anything wrong. And I was just talking to myself, you know something like, ‘What the heck?’"

  "And? Why didn’t you report this?"

  "Everything was fine. I don't know why I thought I heard something..." Ben coughed, squaring his shoulders. "If you notice you will see I have my cell out in some of the cam views, and the sound I heard could have been coming from that. My nephew installed a funny app and it came on..."

  Oglethorpe nodded, a tight smile on his face that didn’t reach his cold eyes. "Okay. But if this happens again, you need to report it. Can’t be too careful, so Bob,” he turned to the tech making notes on his cellphone, “check out the Dewar, patient 99, just to be on the safe side. And make sure there’s no danger to employees or patients.” He paused, then slammed the laptop shut. “Well, I guess that about wraps up our meeting this month. You are all dismissed."

  Tom walked with Ben down the hall, then out to the parking lot. "What was that about?"

  Ben shook his head. "Just what I said."

  "Huh, well, look...the wife really wants you to come over for a meal sometimes. She makes a mean bowl of chili, and this weather is perfect for it."

  "You know, I think I'll take you up on that. And about that woman..."

  Winking, Tom said, "She'll be there. How about Friday night?"

  "Sounds good."

  Driving home, Ben thought meeting a blind date was the price he was willing to pay if he could find the access card Tom had to the records room. Since Tom had been with the company for nearly twenty years, he'd told Ben he had access to every inch of the place -- even the underground vault. Now just to pull off getting it without Tom knowing what he was up to.

  * * *

  The following Saturday night Ben arrived at Tom's log-cabin chalet in the mountains; it was a bit inconvenient, being fifteen miles into town or to work for Tom. He'd told Ben that he was retiring in a few years and couldn't wait to enjoy the chalet -- a nearby river perfect for fly fishing.

  Pulling into the circular gravel drive, Ben gazed at the cozy, well-lit windows, seeing Tom and a young woman talking. Probably his blind date, Ben thought, getting out and slamming the pickup door. As he started to the wide porch, he glanced back at the 2006 Ford 150 he'd purchased a couple days ago. Though used, it had low mileage, and was in good condition, had easily climbed the mountain ascent to this place.

  As he approached the wide door, it suddenly opened, and Tom walked out, said, "Hey Ben, saw you drive up. Let me get a look at your new pickup."

  They walked back to the truck, and Ben said, "Not new, but in good shape."

  Tom ran his hand over the red hood, then leaned back against the truck and said, "Just wanted to give you a heads-up about Carmilla. She's...uh, feeling a little under the weather, so may leave early."

  "Is that short speak for she's as uncertain about this meeting as I am?" Ben glanced back at the house where he saw a tall, thin dark-haired woman peeking out the window.

  "Sort of. She broke up with her boyfriend several weeks ago, and I guess she thinks this might be premature.”

  "Gotcha," Ben said, relieved this would hopefully be a meet-and-greet only. His real intention was to get that digital card.

  When they went inside, Tom gestured to the dark-haired young woman. "Carmilla, this is Ben. You two should have something in common, photography."

  Surprised, Ben asked, "You too? What do you shoot?"

  As the woman approached, Ben realized she was quite stunning -- shapely but slender, large dark inquisitive eyes in a pale, heart-shaped face. She said, "Mostly city street scenes, black-and-white is my specialty."

  "Not many city streets around here..."

  "I live in Denver," she stated, holding out her hand and as Ben took it, he felt an instant spark of attraction. "I should have said city streetscapes, sorry."

  Withdrawing her hand, Carmilla asked, "What is your interest?"

  "Landscapes. This region has a lot to offer..."

  He was interrupted by Tom calli
ng, "In here guys, Judy has everything ready."

  The meal was roast chicken with all the trimmings, which Ben savored, saying, "Good to get a home-cooked meal."

  "You must miss your family," Judy said, handing him a plate of rolls.

  He took one, said, "Yeah, I do. But I've settled in here fairly well." He glanced at Carmilla. "What kind of work do you do?"

  "I'm an R.N., pediatrics."

  "Ah, you love children then," Ben said, spreading butter on his roll. Impressive, Ben thought; he wanted kids someday, although Sophia had not, another source of friction between them. The remainder of the meal passed in easy, but inconsequential conversation, and when they all stood, Ben asked, "Where's the restroom?"

  "Upstairs and to the left," Tom pointed toward the stairway.

  Once out of sight upstairs, Tom crept along the hallway, easing open doors to bedrooms until he found the master. Edging into the lamp-lit room, he saw a huge dresser against one wall and walked over to see a pile of various work-related items tossed across the top. He picked up two cards, slanting them so he could make out the embossed symbols and found exactly what he was looking for: the access card for the records room.

  Slipping the card in his back pocket, he hurriedly retreated, went to the restroom and then downstairs to pass the evening in idle chit-chat. When they were ready to leave, he asked for Carmilla's phone number, which she provided as he saw Tom wink at him from where he stood near the fireplace.

  On the drive home, Ben thought about calling Carmilla; they did share good chemistry. But he didn't know why Tom had fixed them up -- she lived in Denver. Or perhaps Tom thought Ben might not stick with the job here?

  After grabbing a beer, he sat down on the sofa and scrolled through the movie list on Netflix but couldn't find anything he wanted to watch. At last he got up, headed for the bedroom, thinking how he could get into the records room without leaving a trace of it on the many security cams positioned in the hallways at the company.

  * * *

  Tom awoke, springing upright in the bed, staring into the dark room. What the heck woke him? He felt sweaty, dazed and glanced around the room, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Then he heard that creepy ghost app dinging on his cell -- which was across the room on the dresser. He reluctantly got out of bed, walked over and picked up the cell. He saw the radar on his screen, the eerie greenish light sweeping around the circle, a blue blip lighting one corner.

  He held up the cell and looked toward the far corner where the radar was indicating the blip was growing. Then that disembodied voice said, "Here." He saw the word appear at the top of the screen, which was simply the app working. Still, he shuddered, staring into the dark corner, seeing nothing.

  Deciding to uninstall the app, he tried to click out of it...but the screen suddenly froze. Great, he thought, just what he needed: a crappy app jamming his cell. As he tried again to close the app, another disembodied word aloud: "Help." He watched the word appear at the top of the screen, and then the app closed out.

  But Ben was too stunned to bother uninstalling it -- he was watching a white orb dance in the corner of his bedroom, then seemingly fade into the wall and disappear.

  "What the heck?" he mumbled, disoriented and disgruntled.

  Chapter 4

  Spending the next week trying to figure out how to beat the security cams so he could enter the records room, Ben was also preoccupied by what he'd witnessed in his bedroom. Naturally, he'd watched plenty of horror movies and ghost cams that purported to show orbs -- suggesting their presence as ghostly hauntings. Not convinced, he tried to think critically, uneasy with the implications of a ghostly manifestation. Worse, the spirit of a cryonic patient!

  By Friday night, Ben had decided on faking a brief power failure to disguise his break-in to get records on patient 99 -- the Dewar where he had felt the vibration. Unlike other cryonic facilities that openly displayed names and/or pictures of patients, Mountainside Infinity closely guarded individual's identity. Ben and Tom had speculated that was because these people were either celebrities, or in the public eye -- and didn't want their remains whereabouts known. The crazy fans could be trouble, and Ben never thought he'd be on the verge of breaking employee rules to learn the identity of a patient.

  Yet here he was, staring at the power breakers from the solar panels. The facility was off-grid, entirely operated by solar. Loss of electricity wouldn't affect the Dewars, since those didn't require power -- a big selling point. Ben studied the grid map, hesitated only briefly, then hit the breaker for the hallway and records room. He rushed back into the building, having propped open the exterior door, and down the hallway to stand in front of the closed records door – which was on battery backup as was the cams (but he’d disabled those prior to cutting power).

  It was past midnight, and if he was lucky, he should have about five minutes before an alarm went off and sent a cell call to the techs and CEO. Not for the first time, Ben cursed the fact that Oglethorpe was such a "hands-on" supervisor, but then again, everyone working here had skin in the game (plans for cryonic suspension), so it wasn't surprising he took a personal interest.

  Ben swiped the digital card, then stepped into the small windowless room, hitting his cell phone light and looking at the row of file cabinets. He'd only been in here once before, the day of his original hire on a tour. He recalled that only three file cabinets held records; the remainder were for future patients.

  He saw the numerical list on the first two cabinets, and quickly located 90-100 and jerked out the drawer, taking out the file. Not bothering to open the file, he grabbed it and fled. Soon he had the power restored, making a note on the security log that he'd had to replace a blown fuse that had temporarily caused a breaker to trip.

  He'd stashed the file in his tote, saving it to take home and read at leisure. It was a long night, the wee morning hours dragging by, Ben nodding off in front of the security control panel. Around five, he got a cup of coffee from the vending machine, and just as he sat down at the desk, glimpsed movement on the cam view of the storage facility. Sipping the hot coffee, he coughed, wiping the hot liquid off his lips, studying the screen and convinced he'd imagined movement near unit 100.

  Unbidden, his eyes seemed to stray continuously toward the 99 Dewar, and he thought the strain was beginning to wear on him. Yet even as the thought formed, he saw an orb blink into view, hovering near the unit, then blink out just as his cell chimed. Ben dug his cell out of his pocket, looking down to see the ghost app radar. The greenish glow pulsed, the radar line circling over and over, a bluish orb just at the edge where the storage room would be located behind him. He swiveled the desk chair around, staring out the open door into the vacant hallway. Tempted to get up and check the storage area again, he forced himself to stay put.

  Wondering if he was losing his mind, Ben shut down the app, put the cell on the desk, glancing back at the computer screen to see that the storage room was tomb-quiet as always. No orb. No movement.

  By the time Tom arrived for day shift, Ben was more than ready to head back to his apartment and learn who was entombed in Dewar 99.

  * * *

  Ben shed his uniform as he walked down the apartment hallway, stuffing the clothing into the bathroom hamper. He then entered his bedroom, pulling the black-out shades, saying, "Alexa, play Dwight Yokaam, Thousand Miles from Nowhere." He was a classic country music fan, even some of the way-back singers like George Jones, Mel Tillis and Hank Williams.

  Pulling on his robe, he crawled into his bed, fluffed up the pillows and reached to turn on the bedside lamp. Getting comfortable, he sat with the manila folder in his hands, wondering if he really wanted to know who the person in unit 99 had been? What would it accomplish, other than to satisfy his curiosity? Not to mention risking his job for this caper.

  Still, the uncanny feeling he'd been having lately due to the ghost app, the orbs and the Dewar vibration demanded he do something, act. Or was he simply imagining all this, going a litt
le nuts?

  Taking a deep breath, Ben flicked open the file and the first thing he saw was an 8X10 glossy photograph of a young woman with long, silky blond hair. And he immediately recognized her: Olivia Masterson. A well-known, highly successful fashion model, she had disappeared off the public stage when she married a tech billionaire several years ago. There had been celebrity gossip, the usual media speculation that she'd left her modeling career to settle down, start a family. She was twenty-five at that time, which was about five years ago.

  Letting out a long sigh, Ben realized he'd been holding his breath; he kept looking at the gorgeous Olivia -- tall, slender with those long, beautiful natural-blond tresses that always looked somewhat mussed; a lovely face, high cheekbones, sky-blue eyes that always looked sad somehow... Of course, those were her unique features, her trademark image that had made her a fortune.

  Curiosity piqued even more, Ben put the photo aside, and saw the intake file papers: Her height, weight, cause of death: leukemia. He sucked in another deep breath, shocked. How had this been kept out of the media? But then, her billionaire hubby probably bought that privacy. According to what bits and pieces Ben could recall, he remembered something about Cranston Fillinger purchasing a private island for him and his family. Couldn't remember where, just somewhere out in the middle of the ocean where it would be difficult to get at them.