Anamnesis (c) 
Chapter Six 
By Fiction Writer #13 
(nosex, sci-fi, paranormal)

"Aurora One, this is Black Wolf, return to roost."

"Roger that Black Wolf... Aurora One out."

Black Wolf watched as the blinking light on his monitor made a ninety degree 
turn and shot off towards the west.  The sun was rising, the cover of night no 
longer an asset.  Aurora had to be sent away before it got any lighter outside.  
The black wedge rocketed off at top speed to keep the sun from shining on its 
tail.

"All other teams, report." Black Wolf's grip on the steering wheel tightened as his 
team each spoke the three words he hoped he wouldn't hear.

"Negative on target."

'Damn it,' he thought to himself, 'doesn't make any sense.  We had them.  
Where are they?'

He knew that the car they were in wasn't cloaked.  Even the best of cloaking 
systems had a limited time of usage before the equipment needed to cool to 
undetectable levels.  That short time limit had come and gone over two hours 
ago, and the car containing the two teens was still off the grid.

That left only one other possibility, the so called "art", something that Black Wolf 
took great offense with.  Most called it magic, but those in the know called it the 
"art".  Black Wolf always prefaced that word with another, "dark".  Practitioners 
of the dark arts were enemies of everything that he was sworn to protect. They 
were traitors to his country, and to mankind in general.  To Black Wolf, using the 
dark art was akin to burning the American Flag.

He knew that the younger girl, Sarah, could use the dark arts.  She had already 
demonstrated that her abilities reached the same degree as the evil creatures 
that hid in the shadows.  These were the same creatures that were just waiting 
for their chance to bring down all that Wolf held dear in this world.

But Wolf's team hadn't known that the girl's older siblings could also manipulate 
the force known as ether in such a manner.  If this was the case, if this was how 
they were able to elude capture, then Black Wolf and his team needed to 
completely change their strategy on bringing them down.

'You can't run forever.  We'll find you, and when we do... I'll end your disgusting 
little lives.'

"Sir," the communications truck broke into Wolf's thoughts, "incoming 
transmission from the Council."

'Shit.' Wolf cursed this new turn.  He hated the Council, hated everything about 
them.  They were weak, they had no real vision, no idea just how desperate 
things were on the ground.  'One day, ' he often thought, 'one day I'll take over 
the Council.  Once I'm in charge, my men and I will rule with an iron fist.  There 
will be no gray areas when it comes to our enemies.  No red tape, or democratic 
votes, when it comes to our safety.  We will find our enemies, those disgusting 
things that have invaded our world, and we will destroy them.'

For now this was all just a fantasy for Wolf, but one that he could implement at a 
moments notice.  His men were loyal to him, loyal to the point of being fanatical.  
When he chose to strike, to oust those who held the top positions, his men 
would facilitate him in his coup.  But the time was not yet right.  His ambitions for 
greater power had to wait.  He still needed the Council and their resources, and 
besides, he owed them his life.

One day that debt would be repaid, and then a new day would dawn on 
America... on the world.  The unnatural ones would crumble before the might of 
his army.  There would be no talk of treaties, or peaceful cohabitation.  No 
discussion of the finer points of what is and is not evil.  There was but one 
answer that the Wolf found comforting.  All users of the dark arts needed to be 
rounded up and destroyed.  Not studied in some lab, not reasoned with, and 
certainly not seen as equals.  They were trash, garbage, the refuse of another 
world thrust into our own.

For the most part the Council shared Black Wolf's views, but to him they moved 
at a snails pace.  If he were in charge the days of hiding and secrecy would be 
over.  His men would march out in the light of day, Aurora would no longer need 
the cover of night, and the American people would know just how close they 
were to being overwhelmed by the real evil doers.

For now the Council called the shots.  All decisions came from them, and Black 
Wolf followed his orders without question.  Everything was about to take a new 
turn, all he had to do was wait it out, and maybe his moment would come.

"Sir?  Should I put them through?"

The question snapped Wolf out of his mental tirade. "Yes."

Wolf set the auto drive function to "on" and activated the video screen.  On the 
windshield before him a twelve inch square block of static appeared.  The tiny 
gray and white dots shifted into the multicolored blocks of a digital image before 
coalescing into the frowning face of Hollister Broddick, member of the Council 
and billionaire CEO of ADS computer systems.

Mr. Broddick was a private man, rarely seen in public.  He always wore a black 
suite, gray shirt, and a crimson tie.  It was his trademark attire and company 
colors.  His hair was thinning but still mostly black, though his temples had 
begun to turn silver.  He had a pale complexion, but not unhealthy in 
appearance.  He looked much younger than his reported eighty years of age 
should have made him, but his steely gaze shone with a deep wisdom that could 
only come from such life experience.

Hollister sat in a large leather office chair.  Behind him the view from his office 
was dotted with the tops of other buildings in the city of Highland.  All ADS 
offices were shelled in black polarized glass and the edges of the buildings were 
trimmed with red neon lights.  With the sun still one hour from breaking over the 
mountainous horizon of Highland, the red glow from the buildings exterior lights 
cast Hollister in a sinister light.

Since the explosion of the Internet, ADS buildings had been popping up in just 
about every major city in the world.  Currently, the ADS world headquarters was 
located in Highland, NY, officially, a site selected personally by Hollister 
because it was where he had been born.  Unofficially it was chosen so that he 
could be closer to the secret installation under Highland, Project Phoenix.

"Report." Hollister's voice came through the sound system with a tinny quality 
that sometimes plagues audio sent through satellites.  Normally his voice was 
deep, powerful, imposing.  He was known for being a bit of a bully in the 
software business.  His company, Applied Dynamic Systems, had cannibalized 
dozens of other smaller companies as they were acquired through less than 
noble means.

"Sir.  Secondary targets eliminated, primary targets are loose and mobile.  We 
believe that they may have been tipped off to our operation by Lone Wolf." Just 
saying Jonathan's code name out loud made his skin crawl.  Still, after all these 
years, Black Wolf despised the man who had once been a member of their 
group, the first group.

"Unlikely." Hollister's face showed very little emotion as he spoke. "I've sent him 
back to Australia to investigate the ruins discovered at Ayers Rock.  He's been 
out of the country for the last fourteen hours.  This should have been a clean 
and simple mission for you, Donovan.  I'm disappointed."

Donovan, aka Black Wolf, winced at the both the reprimand and the break in 
SOP. At no time was it ever okay to speak someone's true name over the 
communications network, no matter how secure it was.

"Sir, I apologize.  Our intelligence regarding the primary targets was inaccurate."

"How so?"

"Apparently one or both of the siblings has developed an ability to use the dark 
arts, Sir.  Aurora One had visual confirmation on the targets when they faded 
out of sight.  All attempts to re-establish visual contact have since failed."

For the first time since Donovan had known Hollister his normally stoic frown 
broke into mild surprise. "So, Dr. Whelan was hiding them for a reason other 
than a weak attempt at repaying familial arrears.  Interesting."

Dr. Malcolm Whelan... the only person Donovan hated more that Jonathan.  
Malcolm had been one of the project heads involved in the advanced soldier 
program.  He had been the one that voiced his concerns regarding the over 
ambitious nature of the new soldiers.  His reports told of his fears that they 
would one day rise up against their superiors.  His final recommendation had 
condemned Donovan and his team to death.  If it hadn't been for the Council, 
led by Hollister, working behind Malcolm's back, Donovan and the others would 
have been a pile of ashes right now.

All of them except for one, that is.  Jonathan.  Every team is only as strong as its 
weakest link, and Donovan believed that was Jonathan.  Right from the start of 
training, when they were still children, Jonathan had been different than the 
others.  Jon smiled, Jon laughed.  Jon cracked jokes and acted as though he 
didn't care whether or not he was made a team leader.  This infuriated Donovan, 
especially when Jon consistently out performed the rest of the team.

When news of the teams dismantling came down, Jon's name was mysteriously 
absent from the final report.  He was to be spared as the rest of them were 
erased.  Donovan and his men were secreted away to the installation in 
Montana, but Jon was allowed to remain behind.  While Donovan had to hide in 
the shadows, Jon had free rein.

The only thing that took away some of the sting of that betrayal was the fact that 
Jonathan was nothing more than the errand boy of the Council, and guard dog 
of the Beta project.  Donovan and his team were still top dogs as far as the 
Council was concerned, even though they were rarely put into service.

"Do you have any indication of where they might be headed?" The man's stoic 
frown returned.

Donovan had hoped he wouldn't ask, but now he was caught.  The two teens 
could have been anywhere by now, and they had no leads.  It was by accident 
that Donovan looked past the image of Hollister and saw the approaching green 
sign hanging over the highway: Highland City 30 miles.  Suddenly all of the 
pieces clicked together.

'The intel on the boy!' he screamed in his mind. 'The UFO conference that he 
was checking out on-line last night!  He's going to Highland!'

"Sir," he tried to sound calm, as if the answer had always been there, "we 
believe that they are heading to Highland.  We should be able to intercept them 
there."

Again the look of mild surprise appeared on Hollister's face, "Here?  They're 
coming here?"

"Yes Sir.  We believe that they will be attending a conference at the Highland 
Plaza South."

"That's good.  All of the players are assembling.  It's almost time."

"Sir?"

"Nothing.  Split your team.  Have one group intercept the teens at the hotel, and 
another proceed to the research facility.  It's time to take back what is ours.  
Initiate operation Clean House."

Donovan smiled, "What about Whelan?"

"Dr. Whelan is of no longer use to the Council.  Do with him as you will."

"Yes Sir.  I'll lead the strike team myself."

"No mistakes this time Donovan... we need the girl alive."

"Yes Sir."

The image of Hollister scrambled into a million little squares of color before 
fading away.  The highway stretched out for miles ahead of Donovan as the first 
rays of sunlight bathed the back of his car in a fiery red glow.

"Time to pay for what you've done, Dr. Whelan." 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Good morning sleepy head." Stephanie's eyes darted from the road to her just 
stirring brother curled up on the floor then back to the road.  Bright orange 
sunlight poured in from the rear window.  It was going to be another really hot 
day, even for August.

Robbie awoke with a groan. "Mmmmm... where am I?"

"The floor." Steph held back a chuckle as she heard his head make contact with 
the underside of the dashboard.

Robbie shifted around and began to uncurl his body so that he could climb back 
into his seat. "How did I get down here?"

"You don't remember?" Steph grinned as her brother pulled himself back up, his 
hair wild and sticking out in a half dozen different directions.

"No." Robbie clipped his seat belt back on. "Last thing I remember is... pulling 
onto the highway."

"Man... you missed a lot then." Her cheeks tightened. "You don't remember 
professing your undying love for me and me alone?"

Rubbing his eyes, "No."

"And offering to rub my feet when they're sore?"

"No."

"Don't tell me that you don't even remember telling me that I was your goddess 
and that you would kiss the ground..."

"I did not!" Robbie interrupted. "Knock it off."

"Okay, okay... but you did." Steph began laughing.

"Liar!" Rob gave her a playful punch in the arm "Now, how did I really get down 
there?"

Steph made a show of acting like the blow to her arm hurt. "Ow, that hurt."

"No it didn't." Rob leaned over and kissed where he had landed the gentle blow. 
"Now tell me."

"Alright, you're no fun." Steph paused as she changed lanes to avoid some slow 
moving traffic. "You freaked out... said that something was chasing us, and then 
crawled down there to hide."

"I did not!  Stop lying!"

"I'm not lying Rob!  That's what really happened." She turned to face him. 
"Honest."

"That's weird." Rob shook his head trying to remember, but nothing came to 
him.

"Tell me about it.  You nearly had me freaking out too." Steph shifted in her seat 
and winced.

"Still sore?" Rob asked, concerned.

"Yeah.  Mom sure did a number on me yesterday," Steph sighed. "I won't be 
able to sit right for a month at least."

"I didn't get a chance to ask you in the tub last night but... is it burning?" Rob 
looked out the window at the blur of green racing by.

"Is what burning?" Steph asked curiously.

"If you don't know then it isn't." Rob turned back to his sister. "Mom used her 
pepper oil on you.  I know what that feels like... she did it to me.  The only way 
to stop the burning is with milk, you have to flush the oil out, and it takes a lot of 
milk to do it.  Mom and Dad are going to be pissed when they look for something 
to put in their coffee this morning."

Steph reached over and put her hand on Rob's thigh as her eyes stayed on the 
road. "Thank you.  I really mean that Robbie... thank you for helping me the way 
you did."

"You would've done the same for me." Rob put his hand over Steph's, their 
fingers interlacing with each other.

"I don't remember Mom using that oil on you." Steph squeezed her fingers 
tighter around Robbie's. "When did she do that?"

"Three months ago.  She woke me up in the middle of the night and told me to 
come down to the basement because she wanted to show me something." A 
shudder passed through Rob. "I knew as soon as I saw the red light that 
something bad was about to happen, but... I don't know.  I still went down.  I 
wish I hadn't, but you know how Mom is if you disobeyed.  She did things to me 
that, when I think about them now... it still aches.  The funny thing is, during the 
whole thing, she never told me why I was being punished, just that I needed to 
be.  When the sun came up she released me and told me to go back to bed and 
be quiet, so that I didn't wake you guys up.  The next day she acted as if nothing 
had happened, so I did too."

Steph pulled her hand free of her brother's to wipe away a few tears that leaked 
down her cheeks. "You could have told me, you know.  I would have..."

"I didn't want you to get involved," Rob comforted her. "I didn't know if Mom 
would punish you if I told on her."

The pair rode on in silence for the next few miles, both taking the time to reflect 
on everything that had happened.  It was several minutes later when Steph 
broke the quiet hum of the tires on the asphalt.

"I'm hungry, and my butt's getting tired." She pulled off the highway and up an 
off ramp. "Let's get breakfast and teach you how to drive so I can take a break."

"How much longer until Highland?" Rob asked after a small yawn.

"Couple hours, but I'm too tired to keep going." Steph smiled at him. "How do 
pancakes sound?" 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Greg Bellman hated his job.  Hated it with a passion.

"Ordering... one short stack, side of bacon, white toast light on butter, one eggs 
sunny up, side of sausage, wheat toast." He read the paper ticket loudly to 
overcome the noise of the kitchen before attaching it to the board.  There were 
six other tickets before this one.  Seven orders to get out as fast as possible if 
he wanted to make any money today.

"Looking for table twenty-two, three top?" he called over the steel counter to the 
line cook.

"Two minutes," the man called back to him as he deftly flipped eggs over easy 
on the sizzling griddle before him.

"You said that four minutes ago!" Greg pulled a large brown plastic tray out of 
the stack, wiped it off and slid it onto the counter. "How about twenty-three, four 
top, all shorts?"

"Commin' up." The line cook's spatula clanged against the griddle.  Soon plates 
began to drop on to the tray, each piled high with pancakes.  Greg rushed to 
place little paper cups stuffed with whipped butter on each while making sure 
that all four plates were properly balanced for lifting.  The line cook spun around 
one final time dropping a small pitcher full of hot maple syrup beside the tray.  
He pulled the ticket for table twenty-three off of the board and stabbed it through 
the center on a metal spike loaded with other dead tickets. "Order Up!"

Greg hefted the heavy tray up onto his shoulder and took off at a brisk walk.  
The double swing doors opened with a shove and he exited the noisy and frantic 
kitchen for the quiet of the dining area.

Table twenty-three was patiently waiting for him, cups of coffee still half full.  The 
plates went down with a smile one at a time before Greg calmly asked, "Can I 
get you anything else?"

"Uhhh?" The oldest of the four seated men looked vacantly around the table, 
searching for anything that might be missing. "No, I think you got it all."

"All right, enjoy your breakfast." Greg nodded at them and tried to escape his 
section before any of his other customers had a chance to ask him for anything.  
He needed a cigarette, and he needed one now.

"Sir?"

'Damn it!' Greg roared in his head, but what he said aloud was, "Yes Miss?"

"Can we get some orange juice?"

"Absolutely," but what he thought was, 'You fucking bitch!  I asked you twenty 
seconds ago if you wanted something to drink!'  "I'll be right back with your 
juice."

Greg moved quickly over the short pile carpet, any faster and he'd be running.  
'Two more weeks, ' he thought to himself. 'Two more weeks and I'll be out of this 
shit hole and in college.'

Greg couldn't wait.  He only took this job because he needed some cash to get 
him through to his move-in day on September first.  New apartment, no more 
crashing at his Uncle's house here in bumble fuck New York.

He never questioned his decision to leave his home in Highland; there were too 
many bad memories there.  His family had supported him, set him up at the 
school of his choice, and even convinced his uncle Jerry to take in the eighteen 
year old before he started his freshman year.  They agreed with what he 
believed.  If he had stayed, he would never be able to forget her.  Never be able 
to forget about the death of his girlfriend and her entire family.

Greg was moving on auto-pilot at this point.  The morning shift sucked, but at 
least it wasn't boring.  'Turn and burn,' he spoke to himself as he deposited the 
used tray onto a stack of others now sticky with syrup at the server station.  'Get 
em in, get em out.'  He pulled two clean glasses out of the stack and filled them 
with OJ for the deuce seated at table twenty-one.

He turned to find the hostess standing behind him pulling menus that the 
servers had collected after taking orders. "Yeah Ginny?"

"I just sat a deuce at table twenty." Ginny looked at him and smiled. "Cute girl, 
'bout your age."

Greg looked past her to his section near the front door, but couldn't quite make 
out the couple seated at table twenty.  A frosted glass divider separated all of 
the booths and prevented him from seeing anything other than their silhouettes. 
"Cute, you say?"

Ginny, nearly four times Greg's age, kept smiling. "Time you got yourself a girl, 
the other waitresses are startin' to think you're one of them fruits."

Greg laughed but stopped himself before he spilled the two juices balanced on 
his smaller tray. "Alright... alright... I'll check her out.  But if she's anything like 
the last dog you tried to set me up with..."

"No, no!  This one looks classy." Her smile changed to a frown. "And what was 
wrong with my granddaughter Chastity?"

"Ginny..." Greg gave her a peck on the cheek, "... your granddaughter has 
nothing on you."

"Oh, you flirt!" she blushed. "Go take care of your tables."

Greg smiled and made his way back to his section.  He had to side step two little 
kids as they raced past him to the bathroom. 'Fucking kids!'  The juice rocked 
back and forth, sloshing inside of the glasses. 'Don't parents take care of their 
kids anymore!  Christ.'

He turned the corner and approached the table waiting for the almost spilled OJ.  
He could see his new table now.  A young man with blond hair sat with his back 
to Greg.  Across from him, sitting with a smile as her dark eyes darted over the 
menu selections, sat a ghost...

"Steph?"

Her eyes moved up to lock on his at the sound of her name.  The sound of 
shattering glass filled the air, the room spun round and around, there were 
screams, and then Greg heard nothing, felt nothing... except darkness.



Continued in Chapter Seven....


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