David Silva: The Disappeared

Enough was enough.

Childs had turned away from the console and watched D.C. and Mitch leave the lab, knowing that it might very well be the last time he ever saw either of them again. It had all come to a head now. There was no sense in trying to save what he had already accomplished. It was lost. Forever. A life’s work. Just like that.

The door had closed and Childs had scrambled to his feet. He went to the cabinet at the far end of the lab, unlocked it, and removed the only vial of AA103 that remained. He set the vial aside, and removed the tray of test tubes at the back of the cabinet, and slid open the false back wall. Behind it, set into the wall of the building, was a combination safe he’d had installed several years earlier. He opened the safe and removed its contents, which included: fifty thousand dollars in cash; a Visa, MasterCard and American Express, all made out in the name of William Devol; some obsolete research notes, which he tossed aside; a California driver’s license in the same name as the credit cards; a medical board certification and license to practice; two diplomas; and a set of car keys.

“Okay, what else?”

He took his wallet out of his back pocket, and emptied it of everything except the sixty-seven dollars in cash. No sense throwing away good money. He was going to need every penny he had if he wanted to start over again. Into the wallet went the credit cards and driver’s license. The wallet went back into his pocket.

At the door to the lab, Childs stopped and checked the hall both ways. Mitch was standing outside the elevators at the other end. He was leaning over, apparently tying a shoelace. Childs stepped out of the room, guided the latch bolt silently into the strike plate, and hurried to the stairwell. His keys got him through the door, down the stairs, and through the exit door on the first floor, then out into the great open spaces behind the Institute.

It was cold out. The night sky was clear, the air crisp. A sprinkling of stars could be seen just beyond the haze of the city lights that hung over the entire valley. Childs filled his lungs with the fresh air.

A good night to start a new life , he thought.

Then he started on his way.

“Is there anything we can do?”

“Nope,” Walt said nonchalantly. “I think we’re along for the ride on this one.”

A bell rang, and the light over the elevator doors moved from left to right one number, signifying that they were at the second floor now, still rising. He moved away from the control panel to the back of the car, next to Teri. She reached out and took his hand.

“Scared?” he asked.

“A little.”

The bell rang again before he could reassure her everything was going to work out all right. The elevator car lugged, and settled back into place. For a moment, nothing else happened and it was as if all the anticipation had been for naught. Then gradually the doors opened to the third floor.

Mitch stood on the other side of the hall, leaning against the wall. In his hand, he held a gun. On his face, he wore a smile that let them know just how much he was enjoying himself. “Well, well, well. Who do we have here?”

“Nice to see you again,” Walt said.

“I know I’m tickled.” He waved the gun at them, an invitation to exit the elevator. “Why don’t you two join me?”

They did.

Gabe helped Cody into the wheelchair, and went back to the door to see if there was a way they might be able to pick the lock or break out the window. Something . Anything . Back home, he could pick the door between the garage and the kitchen with nothing more than a paper clip. All he had to do was jiggle it around in the lock a few seconds and before he knew it— click! —the door was open. This lock, this door, they were a different story.

“How about this?” Cody said, coming up behind him. In his hand, he held a tongue depressor, maybe four times the size of a Popsicle stick.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Out of that drawer over there.”

Gabe shook his head. “Too big.”

“Then what about this ?” he said, bringing out the biggest q-tip Gabe had ever seen. It wasn’t anything like the q-tips his mom kept in the bathroom cabinet at home. It was maybe twice that size, and as thick as a water-swollen strand of spaghetti.

“Maybe,” Gabe said, taking it in hand. He flexed it between his fingers to see how brittle it felt. You go sticking things into a lock, you don’t want them breaking off in there. Once that happened, you might as well forget it. He had learned that lesson the first time he ever tried to use a toothpick. “Let me try it and see.”

He tore the cotton off one end of the q-tip and slipped it easily into the key way. Gabe gave it a jiggle, first to one side, then to the other, adding just a bit of pressure with his forefinger. It felt like a good fit, he thought. He jiggled it again, added a little more pressure, and cursed himself when it suddenly snapped off. Half-an-inch of the q-tip was now lost just inside the cylinder case. It was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to do.

“Damn it!”

“What’s the matter?”

“It broke off.”

“Oh.” Cody looked down, disappointed. “So, what are we supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe we could get someone to open it from the other side?”

“I don’t think they can hear us from the other side.”

Gabe cast a glance around the room, looking for something, an idea, anything that might draw attention, even Tilley’s attention. If they could just get someone to open the door, then…

“A fire,” he said suddenly. “If we can start a fire, a small fire, then they’ll have to open the door.”

There was no shortage of combustible material in the room. Cody stripped the covers off the nearest bed, while Gabe went through the cabinets and pulled out the Kleenex and tongue depressors and sterile gauze pads, anything and everything he thought might burn. They piled all of it high in the middle of the room, then pulled a fluorescent lamp off the wall and ran it over to the pile.

“Think it’s hot enough?” Cody wondered.

“I think so.”

Gabe got down on his knees, stuffed the Kleenex tissues into the tight space around the bulb, and added some bedding on top of that. He stood up and backed away.

“How long you think it’ll take?”

“Not long.”

After a few minutes, when nothing had happened, he conceded that the bulb probably wasn’t hot enough after all. “We need something to get it started, lighter fluid or gasoline, something like that.”

He went searching again, and this time, in the corner of a cabinet, he came across a bottle labeled: Isopropyl . A yellow warning notice cautioned that the contents were highly flammable. He removed the cap, and gave it a sniff. Instantly, his eyes watered. It was alcohol. Isopropyl was alcohol. Perfect.

He sprinkled a couple of Kleenex tissues with the liquid, tossed them onto the fluorescent bulb, then stood back and waited. When nothing happened, he tried pouring the alcohol directly onto the lamp itself. Almost instantly, the bulb exploded.

Gabe covered his face and turned away. When he turned back, he saw a brown-black circle gradually appear in the middle of one of the bed sheets. It had a raven iris that opened like a fissure in the earth. Cotton-thread edges disappeared into the black rift.

First it was one circle, then it was another, then another, then a whiff of smoke began to rise and it was no longer a question of if they could get someone’s attention, it was a question of how long it would take.