Elgin’s Trial
By Mr. J.
SYNOPSIS: Ten years after the events of Elgin’s Rise, Tracy Elgin has realized her dreams of going to Harvard. With undergrad under her belt and grad not far behind, she seems to be on track to join the ranks of the country’s intellectual elite. But when her boyfriend commits suicide, it triggers off a chain of events that leads her to the very top of one of the country’s biggest defense contractors. Will she survive long enough to uncover the vast corruption and sexual depravity she sees, or will her worst fears get the best of her?
BIO: Born in the foothills of the Carolinas in the 1980s, the randy individual known as Mr. J has been composing stories both erotic and otherwise since he was a zygote. In real life, the aimless twentysomething-cum-college grad is a wandering tramp, surviving only by bare wits (and other assets as well). When he isn’t composing tales of mind controlled sex slaves, he can be found enjoying that most mundane of tech, TV.
Love mail? Hate mail? Book offers? Send them in! jbsparrow@fastmail.cn. I promise he won’t bite.
Elgin’s Trial
By Mr. J.
Prologue…
The redhead bundles herself in her leather coat as she crosses the busy thoroughfare, heedless to the flow of traffic around her. Buses and cabs speed like cells in an artery, ferrying their passengers to their final destination. The wind lashes her face as she hurries towards the sidewalk. But Jill St. John could care less.
A plastic bag catches her eye as it billows in the autumn breeze before a loud protestation of a honk snatches her back into reality; the driver cursing in a foreign tongue. She catches her breath, realizing how close she came to being snuffed out. She smiles sheepishly and rushes past him with an awkward wave of apology. It’s hard enough to think amid the flashing lights and gleaming skyscrapers. No need to compound the situation.
What she really needs is a dimly lit coffee shop. Just sit in the back row and be alone with her thoughts and a tall cappuccino while some Natalie Merchant or Cat Stevens plays over the loudspeakers. Somewhere away from the cold, the violent rush of the city that threatens to pull everybody into its undertow. If she could do that for thirty minutes or an hour maybe she wouldn’t feel buffeted by the waves.
But it’s too late. Jill already promised to meet the reporter at Sonny’s down on Commonwealth about ninety minutes from now. He promised not to bring his tape recorder like she asked, but who knows? When they talked a week ago she was sold on going off the record. Now it’s T-minus 45 and already she’s wondering whether she stand him up instead. Better to let him stew over cold pasta than find herself lying face down in a pool of blood...
When she’d moved to Boston five years ago, it was a dream. Here she was, a girl from a cow town whose only choices were to strip or have babies, and suddenly she was working alongside some of the top chemists and geneticists in her field. At last, after all those years pulling all nighters in grad, measuring liquid in test tubes, she finally got to do what she wanted, isolating pheromones with sophisticated equipment with her head held high. It was as the asterisk next to girl had been removed like a blot.
Her promotion from entry-level assistant was rapid. Soon she was overseeing all kinds of projects, working on everything from pharmaceuticals, to biotech, to genetic reengineering. As lead research scientist for Divinex’s Boston headquarters, she’d had a front row seat at the cutting edge of science and technology, landing lucrative contracts from Big Government and Big Business alike. With such a wide-ranging portfolio, it’d been inevitable that she would become privy to some of the world’s best kept secrets—many of which she would’ve gladly taken to the grave.
But working on the DOD’s hypnotic trance program shook her to the core. She didn’t think much of it at first. It was just another experimental program, nothing more, her boss ensured her. Jill went along with it too. She started picking up details as colleagues pulled her aside. She refused to believe that the people she worked with—people she’d respected and admired—diverting her research from helping catch bad guys to turning college girls and professionals alike into sex slaves and assassins, all on Uncle Sam’s dime.
When she stumbled upon the sight of a bevy of young women being auctioned off onstage in the cafeteria late one night, their listless bodies on display as they were inspected and sold to the highest bidder, she knew enough was enough. Yet she continued to go to work, ambivalent about her role as the facilitator of unspeakable crimes. She vacillated between blowing the whistle and remaining loyal to her employer. After a particularly stressful day at work, she picked up the phone and dialed the number of the local press, words tumbling out of her mouth quicker than she could process them...
The blare of a police siren propels her into the present. To her chagrin, she hadn’t walked as much as a block. She curses as she glances at her watch. She races to flag down the nearest cab, heedless once again to the flow of vehicles around her. Jill wonders if it’s meant to be.
“Excuse me.” A middle aged woman in a pantsuit startles her. “I’ve seem to have lost my cell phone, have you seen it?”
Jill studies her. The raven head couldn’t be no more than forty five or fifty. Streaks of white color her hair. She appears familiar yet foreign. Her eyes are vacant and tired. It’s hard not to sympathize—who in this city hasn’t lost a purse or a cell phone amidst the city’s subways and buses?
Yet something feels strangely off. The abruptness of her approach...the muted tone of voice...the empty, vacant eyes. A vague sweet smell drifts into her nostrils, reminiscent of her aunt’s favorite perfume. God bless her.
Even in the dimness of the night, Jill could spot a resemblance to her deceased relative in the woman’s aristocratic cheekbones and Rubenesque physique. A part of her is sympathetic to her plight, but even against the backdrop of an uncaring city, the scientist knows enough not to let down her guard—not even around a hapless lady.
“Why don’t you call the police? Besides, you could always get another one...”
“But it’s got my contacts in it! Do you know what would happen if a hacker got it?”
“I imagine it wouldn’t be good.”
“You know lost and found is a joke, right?”
Jill nods her head.
“So are you going to help me or aren’t you?”
Jill clutches her purse tightly. Suppose the woman’s a cokehead. Suppose she didn’t take her medication. Any number of things could be in play. But there’s no way she’s going anywhere with her. Besides, she’s got a meeting downtown in fifteen minutes...
“Where’d you last see them?”
“At the shopping center.”
“You mean the one on Massachusetts? Don’t you have a car?”
“No ma’am.” The stranger produces a learner’s permit. “Sucks, don’t ya know?”
Jill scratches her head. What kind of a person lives in Boston and doesn’t have a driver’s license? Oh well, at least it’s a first.
“C’mon, we can hop the bus.” Jill motions toward her. “I’m going that way anyway. I didn’t catch your name.”
“You can call me Michelle.”
As the bus barrels down the street, Jill eyes her fellow passenger. Their faces are haggard and worn, full of despair. So unlike the two women with their smooth skin and exuberance. Glancing back at Michelle, the streaks of white hair strike her once again as very familiar to her aunt’s.
Perhaps too familiar.
“You could’ve bought a new one, or told your boss to disable it, you know.”
“At my age honey, you stop giving a shit.”
As the bus pulls up to their appointed stop, a chill runs up Jill’s spine as she peers through the window. The outside looks cold and dark. The nearest pool light must be a least a hundred yards away. Her stomach churns.
“Are you sure this is the right place?”
Michelle nods as the duo steps off the bus, venturing through the dimly lit parking lot at a leisurely pace.
“I have to be somewhere in five minutes.” Jill glances at her watch. Out of the corner of her eye she spies Michelle motioning towards someone. that’s odd, I thought she was alone... High beams pierce the darkness as men clad in black rush toward them. Jill’s hand trembles.
“Bitch! This is a set up!”
Michelle smiles dopily.
Chapter I: A Long Way to Tipperary
Tracy Elgin frowns as she studied the morning’s Globe, an audible sigh escaping her lips. Poor thing... she whispers. The woman was in her mid-30s, according to the article, at the top of her game. A downtown apartment, parties on Beacon Hill, she had it all. Then last night she goes and disappears.
Tracy reads the article again, as if to confirm what she’s reading. It said she worked in chemistry or biology—hell if she knows. Anyway you cut it is sad. Just imagine, moving to a city full of strangers, spending half a decade working up the latter and boom! Gone. Not even a hair left behind.
The 25 year-old brushes her red bangs out of her eyes .Since moving to the city seven years ago, she’s had her own close encounters, with freaks and weirdoes. It’s hard not to in a city of 650,000. Only a matter of time one comes across a pervert jerking off on the bus, or grinding against a girl on the subway. But still...a crime like this isn’t supposed to happen to anyone, at least if they’re smart.
One thing’s for sure, what happened yesterday will be the talk of school for a least a week. It is one thing to study human behavior, but this is real stuff going down. No amount of reading the literature prepares anyone for the sudden realization that it’s not just the transients, the runaways, the mentally ill—everyone’s a potential victim. That’s what makes the men cower and the women lock their doors.
She pauses to stick her spoon into her oatmeal. Her ears drown out the din of customers as she gazes out at the thicket of trees nearby. From her corner of the joint, the view of the pines swaying in the breeze is nothing less than bucolic. There’s something to be said about dining in a restaurant situated near a local park beyond skipping the meal plan.
Tracy folds up her paper as a classmate walks towards her. She smiles wanly, wondering what if anything she has in mind.
“What’s wrong?” The brunette’s voice is laced with concern. “This isn’t about Jeremy, is it? You should hire a private investigator or something. Can’t be too careful these days, right? ”
Tracy shakes her head.
“I just read the paper. Did you hear about the woman on Tremont?”
“Yeah. Can’t say I blame her, the way this city rides you. If I was her, I’d picked another line of work.”
Tracy scowls.
“Amy wants to know if you’ll join us for a little girl’s night out.”
“Girls night out?”
“The theater. On Grand?”
“Sorry Cass. I can’t. I have to work on my dissertation.”
“Dissertation? Your dissertation can wait. I for one am practically bursting from the pressure!”
“Maybe some other time, Cass.” Tracy glances at the Casio on her right wrist. “Look, I got a class in thirty minutes. Nice seeing you.”
“You too. I’ll be checking in a week to see if you dumped that no-good boyfriend. You’re too good for him, Tracy.”
“Whatever.”
As Tracy gathers her notebooks and pens and stuffs them in her book bag, she catches sight of her reflection in a mirror nearby. After all these years, it’s hard to believe that her figure hasn’t changed since she donned the earrings a long time ago. Even without them, she is still tall and beautiful, though her breasts are smaller than she remembers. She gathers up her flowing mane into a bun, stealing a glance at her shapely bum as she smoothes out the creases in her jeans. She cracks a smile.
As she walks toward her grey Honda, her mind turns to what Cass said. Though she never doubted her boyfriend for a moment, his behavior of late is enough to give her pause. Every time she tries to meet up with him all she gets in return is a ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’ as he’s coming or going. Not a sentence of explanation, not so much as a word. It’s only when they’re at an event together that she gets a chance to see his face. Then there are those weird hours of his...
Tracy glances at the engagement ring on her finger. Suppose Cass is right? Suppose he is doing something behind his back? Yet when she looks in his eyes, all she sees is anxiety or fear. His shoulders always seem tense, his gait straight and erect. It’s as though he’s on guard against something. She chalks it up to commitment phobia, but still...
She pulls up to the parking lot of the Unitarian Church and begins the trek towards the Quad, the weight of her baggage weighing on her as she dodges the morning traffic. Her legs grow stiff as she makes her way across the island. She stifles a grunt of complaint, eyeing the quad in front of her. Only a fluke of luck separates her from the rush of students making their way towards the block-shaped Federal style building in front of her.
The rest of her day is split between classes and the library, pouring over Piaget and Maslow and Milgram line by line with the intensity of a 1L student. The few snatches of rest she receives, she savors. As she drives toward her apartment in the evening, her cell-phone pings, nearly forcing her off the road.
She pulls by the side of the road and searches through the backseat. After sifting through textbooks and paper cups and countless candy wrappers, she fishes out the Nokia. ‘One message received’ the black lettering reads. She checks her inbox, only to discover a text from Jeremy. That’s odd, she wonders, recalling how stingy he could be with his minutes.
“Need to see you.” The message is short and sweet. “McSweeney’s at seven? I’ll be the one in the red baseball cap. XOXO.—Jeremy.”
Why he couldn’t swing by her place, she doesn’t know. Anyway, it’s not like they’ve had any face time together. As Tracy starts the ignition and turns the car around, she wonders if tonight would be the night he would tell her the awful truth. She braces for the impact, steeling herself for the inevitable blow. Driving down the narrow city streets, her cheeks grow shade of red, wondering what her first words will be as she reaches the corner of Pheasant and Main.
As she walks through the oak doors, Jeremy stands erect, his green windbreaker showing signs of wear and tear. He nods as she strides toward him, a look of consternation on her face.
“What the hell is going on?” Her voice carries through the bar.
“Lower your voice.” He whispers. “People are dining here.”
“You buzz me in the middle of drive time traffic and you’re concerned about the noise here? Some nerve.”
“I wish I could explain...”
“Explain what?”
Jeremy sighs.
“It’s a long story.”
Tracy bores her eyes into him.
“Look at me.”
“Huh?”
“Look into my eyes and tell me the truth. You’re seeing another woman, aren’t you? Or maybe it’s a dude. I can’t tell with you.”
Her boyfriend bellows.
“Look at me.” He takes off his hat momentarily to brush curls of hair from his eyes. “I’m thirty pounds lighter. My eyes are bloodshot. I look like a mountain man. Does that sound like someone you’d want to mess around with?”
“Where you’ve been? Sacrificing virgins in the Adirondacks?”
“I wish.” Jeremy slides a manila folder across the table. “If anything happens to me...”
Tracy glances at the package in disbelief.
“You’re scaring me, Jeremy. What they got you doing across the bridge that makes you so jumpy?”
“If only I could share it with you, Tracy.”
Before she can process it all, her boyfriend gets up from his seat.
“Where are you going?” She clasps his hand.
“I need a breath of fresh air.” He shrugs. “My brain’s killing me.”
“I could come with you.” She strokes his arm. “You look like you could use some company.”
“I got to go.” He breaks away from her.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
“To the park. You have my number, right?”
Tracy nods.
“You’ll call me after you’re done?”
“I promise.”
“I love you,
“Take care of yourself.”
“I will. I love you, Trace.”
“I love you, Jeremy.”
As Tracy turns the pages of the thriller in her hand, peals of sirens echo in the distance, reminding her of the city’s dangers. Somewhere out there a couple is getting mugged, a gun is being shoved in a woman’s face, yet safe inside of the walls of the studio apartment she calls home it’s easy to tune it out. She pulls an afghan over her lap as she tries to escape into a world of fantasy, if only for a brief while. After the day’s weirdness, she could use some respite.
Her thoughts wander back to the conversation at the bar. She eyes at the cell phone periodically, wondering if she should make the call. It’s probably nothing. She pushes the nagging feeling aside. She knows from experience how solitary Jeremy could be. Their relationship is strong—he just needs a little space that’s all.
A loud knock on the door snaps her into reality. As she stumbles towards it, possibilities populate her mind. Who could it be?
“Are you Tracy Elgin?” The cop stammers.
“Is something wrong, officer? It’s Jeremy, isn’t it?
The officer pauses.
“A jogger put in a call about a body in the Common four hours ago. White male, mid to late twenties, wearing a red windbreaker. Police ID’ed the body, they’re just waiting for next of kin.”
Tracy crumbles to the floor, her body racked with sobs. As the state policemen pulls her up, her stomach roils with emotion. Her first instinct is to punch the tall, slender rookie square in the jaw. But that wouldn’t take away the punch in her gut.
Her eyes dance around the room. A sudden lightheadedness floods her brain. An acidic feeling settles in her throat. She sprints for the bathroom, giving no heed to the thought that the man in blue might catch sight of her buttocks as she leans over the toilet. She returns, feeling less woozy but no worse for wear.
“I want to see him.” She stammers. “I want to see his body.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, ma’am...”
The glare in her eyes immediately dissuades the young man from disabusing her of that notion.
“I’m warning you, you won’t like what you see.”
Questions swirl in Tracy’s head as she sits in the back seat of the police cruiser. How did he die? What were his last thoughts? Was her name on his lips as he took his last breath? She’ll never know.
“What happened?”
“Single gunshot wound to the chest, self-inflicted.”
She regrets even asking.
The vehicle pulls up to the back of the grey morgue, funereal in its appearance. As Tracy strides toward the door, the officer struggles to keep up. She waits for him in the corridor, growing more anxious as she bides her time.
“This is as far as I’ll go.” He confesses. “I’ll be in the car if you need anything.” She huffs. After several minutes of frustration and red tape from weary assistants, she finally locates the room where his body is located. As she strokes the locks of Jeremy’s auburn hair, one thought occurs again and again in her mind.
I got to get out of here.