COMPLETE THE CIRCLE - Chapter 21

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Chapter 21

As the sun descended from its mid-day peak over the Florida beaches, Carl Pickover polished off his fifth can of beer, after which he dozed off in his beach chair. A short time later he heard his cell phone bleep low battery, and decided that as there was little else to do that day, he would go back to his room, put the phone on charge, and finally find out, after over a week, what he had missed. He was not particularly looking forward to this as his expectations were only of messages asking where he was, why he had not met their appointments, to return their calls, and so on. He had put off all this as he was, in his mind, still supposed to be getting a life, a woman, and a proper job.

*

The text messages contained no surprises. The first three voicemails were as expected.

His email box appeared to be full of trash, and he seriously contemplated deleting the lot of them. But then as he skimmed through the senders and subjects, something caught his eye:

From: Doctor Deanne Clarkson

Re: Darek Carl’s Chronology Report: Important, please respond.

! This message is high priority.

His mind still foggy from the several beers he had consumed all day, Pickover tried to read the message. He looked out to the clear, blue Atlantic, and decided to read it again. He polished off the contents of another can, but this one did not seem quite so enjoyable.

It was slowly dawning on him that there may be someone seriously interested, or crazy enough to believe, in his meticulously-typed, hand-written, carefully-drawn boxed-up pile of drivel stored away back at his apartment!

It was becoming a sobering thought. There was a cellphone number. He called it.

Ten minutes later he had sobered up sufficiently to start making immediate arrangements out of Miami.

*

At the same time Carl Pickover was grabbing the first available flight out of back to San Francisco, David Lutman and Deanne Clarkson were heading out of Phoenix and onto Highway 10 towards Los Angeles, north on Highways 5 and 180, and across the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge. Lutman had visited San Francisco on his first trek two years earlier, but was now enjoying the view from transport that offered him more independence than a minibus. It was also a different bridge to approach the city, giving him a whole new thrill. That joy was enhanced further when Deanne allowed him to drive the latter part of the journey – over the bridge itself, albeit in the dark.

Having left early that morning they arrived in Daly City, exhausted, at Pickover’s little apartment shortly before midnight. Carl Pickover was already waiting at the front door, Deanne having called him of their impending arrival.

‘Glad you could make it,’ he cheerfully announced. ‘Good you warned me otherwise I might’ve been well gone in bed.’

‘We’re glad to be here,’ Deanne replied.

Pickover looked at Lutman uncertainly. ‘Who’s your friend?’

‘Her friend’s name is David Lutman,’ said Lutman irritably, certain that Pickover knew exactly who he was. ‘And this is my fiancée, Doctor Deanne Clarkson.’

‘Oh, you're English. Like the accent. And pleased to meet you.’

Pickover turned back to Deanne, taking her hand and kissing it. ‘Please come in – here, let me take your bags.’

They followed him inside the block and to his apartment door where he dropped their bags just inside.

‘Doctor, as you probably realize,’ Pickover said nervously, ‘I don’t want to be putting up someone who has already come to the conclusion that I’m, erm, a little strange, and taking advantage of me because of what I may’ve said, but could you give me some proof of your credentials?’

‘Sure, Professor.’ Deanne produced her business card and identification badge from the Hartington Labs. He examined them closely for a few moments before cheerfully returning them.

‘You’re a lucky man, sir,’ he said to Lutman, ‘but was there really a need for you to be here too, besides being Doctor Clarkson’s fiancée?’

‘Call me David. I’m here because I believe I hold the key to what we’re all looking for.’

‘Really?’ said Pickover, surprised. ‘So you know something?’

‘Professor,’ Deanne interrupted wearily, ‘can we discuss all this in the morning? We’ve been driving for the past fifteen hours or so, and frankly, we’re bushed.’

‘Oh yeah. Sorry. Where’re my manners? Let me show you to your…’

Pickover paused, coughed slightly, and apologetically gestured towards his bedroom/office. ‘Ahem, your bedroom.’

He pointed to the double bed. ‘So, are you guys…, erm?’ he said nervously, waving his hand.

‘It’s fine, thank you,’ said Lutman firmly.
‘Goodnight Professor,’ cut in Deanne. ‘We’ll see you in the morning.’

Chapter 22 >