Frank Klus - Azaleas Don't Bloom Here

Eugene’s movements were predictable and uneventful. He sometimes went to the office, and other times he went elsewhere. Nothing was out of the ordinary until Monday morning. Cassandra got up first and Ray slept late. When he got up Sean offered to make him some breakfast, but Ray chose coffee instead. He took his coffee into the parlor where Cassandra was at the desktop.

“Gene is still home.”

“Doesn’t he usually leave for work by this time?” Ray asked.

She checked the time. “He should have left a couple hours ago.”

“Would he have checked for a tracker?”

“Gene?” Cassandra said, smiling. “He wouldn’t even know where to look.”

“Dennis?”

Cassandra looked up, stared at her husband, and looked worried.

“I better drive out there and see if he’s really there or not,” Ray said.

Sean walked into the room. “I’ll go,” he said. “You got an operation to run here.”

“Would you really not mind?” Ray asked.

“Don’t worry. I’ll call you when I get there.”

“I need to talk to Daniel,” Ray said to Cassandra. Ray reached for his phone. “Daniel. It’s Ray. We’re not sure where Gene is. He should be at work, but the tracker indicates he’s still home. Sean went to check on him, but I got a bad feeling about this. I think they’re going to take him to Hell House.”

“I did find something of interest when I was able to hack into some email where the number ‘123’ came up. It’s some sort of code. Do you think it might be important?”

“It could be. See if you can find mention of ‘Hell House’ with ‘123’. It’d also help if you can hack into Dennis’s email. We might strike pay dirt there.”

“Yeah, I’ve been trying, but haven’t been able to yet,” Daniel said.

“This might be a good time to bring Jimmy the Fox in,” Ray said. “He might be able to help.”

“I agree. In the meantime, I’ll try to find as much info as I can from the main computer. There’s still a ton of emails to go through.”

Ray dialed the Fox’s number and waited. “Jimmy, have you ever heard of ‘123’?”

“That sounds like one of the Squad’s codes. I broke the code book…. Give me a second…. Let me see if I can find it here…. Oh, yes. Here it is. Let’s see. Code 123 means ‘in process’.”

“In process as in something is being done but not completed?”

“I guess.”

“Look, Jimmy, do you think you could get a tracker on my brother’s car?”

“I suppose so, but wouldn’t he just check for it?”

“I understand you’re the best at hiding trackers.”

Jimmy was beaming. “Yeah, I guess the Squad still hides them the way I told them to.”

“Jimmy, do you suppose you might have a secret hiding place you haven’t told the Squad or Blues about?”

“I might. Where does he live? License plate would really help.”

Ray gave him all the details.

“Why do you want to track your brother anyway?”

“I’m hoping he goes to Hell House.”

“Shit! I hoped I’d never hear of that place again.”

“Me either.”

Almost three hours went by before the phone rang. It was Sean. “Yeah, Ray. Nobody’s home. His car is in the driveway. I rang the doorbell and knocked on the door, but no one answered. I went around the house, where there was a side window that I could see in, but I couldn’t see anyone inside or any sign that anyone was home.”

“Did you check to see if our tracker is still on?”

“Yeah. There are two trackers on his car—ours and theirs.”

“Thanks, Sean. Come on home.”

Cassandra just looked at him. “They got him, don’t they?”

Ray frowned and looked worried.

Ray’s phone rang. It was Daniel. “Ray! I’ve got it—Dennis’s password.”

“That’s great. How’d you do it?”

“It was that Hell House. I just typed in about a couple dozen variations and boom—there it was. Anyway, I scanned his emails, but there was nothing there. Then I looked at his document folder and there was a Notes subfolder. I opened that and, hello, there it was, ‘Hell House Notes.’ It’s on De La Salle Street, just a few blocks from Dennis’s house. Ray, Gene’s in a lot of trouble.”

48 Hours Earlier

Eugene Sulke woke up strapped to an ergonomic metal chair. It had a pair of straps which secured his wrists to its arm rests. He looked down and saw that the chair had leg straps as well, although they weren’t used now. The chair was bolted to a cement floor in what appeared to be a basement clinic.

Immediately to the right of the chair was a desk with a stenotype machine on it.

Beyond the desk he saw what appeared to be a display monitor; although he could only see the back of it. He noticed another one to the left of it. Both monitors, if that’s what they were, were suspended from the ceiling by a series of movable rods; perhaps made of steel.

Next to and below the left-most monitor was a desk with a laptop on it.

Further to his right, past the first monitor, was a door, and what appeared to be a small room.

Ahead of him was something appearing to be a hospital gurney about eight feet away. It was elongated, but it wasn’t on wheels; it appeared to be bolted to the floor. The gurney was about seven feet long by three feet wide at one end, and about two feet wide at the other end. It was metallic and cushioned, with three pairs of straps.

Against the wall and beyond the gurney was a glass display case consisting of two metal shelves. On the bottom shelf were various kinds of instruments. He saw a barber’s shaver and sheers, an assortment of scissors, some gauze and bandages, and a general medical kit. There were a couple of peculiar looking instruments that Gene could not make out, and one scary looking instrument. It was tubular in shape, with a protruding needle at one end, and a series of wires that were wound up at the other end.

On the top shelf were a set of vials, needles, and bottles. There were also a couple of scalpels and an assortment of containers that appeared to be various drugs. There were glass doors that opened up to access these medical devices and supplies.

On the wall above the case was a clock, and just below the clock was a digital readout of the date—it was February twelfth, and the time was 2:33.

To the left of the clock was an opening that might be a hallway, but Eugene couldn’t tell for sure.

To his immediate left, Eugene saw stairs leading upwards, and beyond the stairs was a small table with a single chair. Both were plain and appeared to be utilitarian.

The whole atmosphere had a clinical look and smell, and Eugene felt his heart pounding against his chest. What is this place? Why am I here? There were no windows and just some faint sounds coming from the hallway ahead of him. There must be another room down there .

He heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Eugene turned to look, and saw a man appearing to be a soldier or security guard. He was tall and lanky with broad shoulders, and he wore a Lightning Squad uniform. He was armed.

“So you’re awake now,” he said when he saw Eugene staring at him. He looked straight ahead and yelled, “Doctor, he’s awake.”

A few minutes later a rather small wiry man, appearing to be around fifty years of age with a balding head and beady eyes, emerged from the hallway. He was followed by a rather austere looking man of about the same age carrying something, and sitting down at the desk with the stenotype.