The Cordovian Effect - Chpt 3

Against my better judgment I found myself riding shotgun as Rose drove. I watched the as the red and orange soil and gigantic spires of Sadona slipped away as Roger came to mind.

As best I could, I tried to take inventory of who or what I had become. I had thought I would be able to tell the difference between who I was then and my new... condition. I was happy that my B.C.E.D. was a thing of the past but I was disappointed with this arrangement. I thought I would be something more... not a superman mind you, hell not even a super hero but I was sure I would have some kind of edge over the everyday man. So far, however, I appeared to be simply the exact same man in a new package. If Roger had something in mind for me I had no idea what it might be.

"Oh no, look at all the cars... the b*****d just couldn't keep his big mouth closed could he?" Rose gasped as we pulled to a stop.

"What b*****d would that be?"

"My boss, Arlo. He can be such a... a..."

"B*****d?"

"Yes he is. So help me, when I get my hands on him."

Set on the far side of town almost by itself the building held all the exterior makings of a tourist trap. Standing well over two stories tall, the building was a typical western design with sharp, straight lines that culminated in a flat roof hidden behind off set parapets. A dull tan sandstone in color with darkened windows, a tall arch protected the front door from the wind and sun. Painted in a dark blue calligraphy over that arch the words Arlo's Art.

An electronic bell buzzed somewhere in the building as we entered, accompanied by the smell of sandalwood oils that filled the air. At that instant my head throbbed for a moment followed by a faint, repetitive beeping tone in the back of my head.

I was a little taken back when the room burst into applause as we entered.

"Welcome, welcome," A heavy set man said while clapping in an exaggerated manner. Dressed in a white suit that appeared at least two sizes to small for him he stood just under six foot. With a graying goatee he held the image of a southern plantation owner. His thinning hair had been pulled back and tied with a leather string forming a tail the terminated just below his collar. As formal as his attire appeared he wore bright green tennis shoes with orange laces instead of something more traditional.

"Uncle, you promised," Rose began.

"And hello to you my dear," he returned, kissing her forehead. "Hello Mr. Ironwood. It's such a pleasure to meet you. I'm Arlo Bramwell. I'm a big fan, really huge fan of your work," He said with a hint of a British accent, grabbing my hand to shake it.

"So are we!" A woman called bouncing a little in excitement, waving frantically.

"Please, call me Jon."

"Uncle Arlo," Rose said sternly.

"As are they, honey," He said softly to her as he pulled her closer with one arm while bowing lightly sweeping his free arm toward the forty or fifty people assembled on the other side of the large room. "Everyone, everyone," he called clapping his hands again. "I'm proud to introduce my close, personal friend, Jon Ironwood."

The room exploded into excited voices and applause as everyone suddenly surged forward gathering in a tight circle about me.

It felt like a thousand hands touched or patted me at the same time. Both of my hands were repeatedly grabbed and shook with equal vigor accompanied with a sea of new smiling faces that appeared and disappeared before my eyes.

Slowly, after what had seemed like forever, the crowd of people around me began to thin, allowing me room and time to breathe.

"Uncle," Rose began again.

"Pardon us for a moment will you Jon," Arlo said before pulling her away.

Getting a good look around for the first time the building appeared much larger on the inside than it did outside.

Even with close to fifty people milling around, its interior was huge. The heavy textured, oatmeal colored walls and ceiling were accented by peeled and varnish logs giving it a very rustic characteristic. The space had been divided up in a larger number of alcoves, each a safe haven for some priceless bronze sculpture or painting, each flooded with so much light they seemed to glow of their own volition. The curved walls of each alcove offered substantial privacy while flowing smoothly, effortlessly, into the next.

As I looked out over the crowd the back of my head began to throb again, accompanied by the same, faint repeating beep. I thought sure something was wrong. It didn't hurt, it was persistent to the point I couldn't ignore it, it was just there in the background of my thoughts like a smoke detector with a weak battery.

"You hear it don't you?" a woman behind me said softly.

I started to turn around to answer her, instantly relieved, I wasn't the only one.

"Don't turn around," she said and shoved something into my back.

"What the hell?" I cursed and began to turn out of irritation alone.

"I mean it, I have a gun and I'll drop you where you stand. You got away once but I guarantee you at this range you won't escape a second time. I've been looking forward to killing you for a long time so I won't hesitate an instant."

The tone in her voice filled me with total belief.

"Who are you?"

"You hear it don't you?" she asked leaning against me to whisper in my ear.

"Hear what?"

"Don't be coy, I know what you are."

"Really? And what am I?"

"You're one of them, you're a fake. Now answer me... you hear it don't you? Down deep in your head you hear it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I lied.

"I know what it is and I'd bet all that is Holy you have no idea."

I didn't answer, she was right. I didn't understand what was going on... not the gentle repetitive beep in my head or her with a gun in my back.

"Who are you?" I asked hoping to shift topics.

"I knew it. I knew you would hear it. You're lucky. I had to figure it out myself. It took me more than twelve years to sort things out... to separate what was real from what wasn't. Twelve years to pull myself out of the dark to be rid of the voices. Then it came to me, it was like God was speaking to me and me alone. All I had to do was kill you... all of you and I could be free."

"So you hear a tone and assume that it's God speaking to you?"

"I didn't say it was a tone, now did I?"

"You did."

"No I didn't but knowing you hear it means that I'm right... God does want me to rid the world of you and the others like you."

"You're nuts lady. I don't hear anything," I argued.

"Liar, you hear it. The first time I heard it I thought I was having a stroke or that perhaps I was going mad."

"You've got my vote."

"Always the wise-a*s, huh Ben?" she said shoving the gun harder into my back.

"You have me confused with someone else. My name is Jon... Jon Ironwood."

"You make me sick. I knew Jon when he was alive and he had integrity. He turned Roger's offer down cold."

"Roger?" I asked suddenly filled with confusion.

"What? You thought I didn't know? Oh, I know... I know everything Ben... every thing. God told me."

Her mention of Roger threw me off completely. My mind raced trying to decide what to believe and what was her attempt at fishing for information.

"Hear it? Rhythmic, persistent, like a heart beat?"

"Yes," I didn't see any point in continuing the charade, if she knew about Roger, she knew about the tone.

"It means one of yours is here."

"One of mine?"

"Yes, one of yours... one of the monsters is here among us." She hissed in my ear. "There! See him? The man with the pink rose in his lapel."

I scanned the crowd looking for the man she described. At first there were to many people and then I began to concentrate on the faces. Then, bending at the waist a man who was speaking to a woman seated in front of one of the exhibits turned his head in my direction. At the instant our eyes met he nodded his acknowledgement and I did the same and the tone stopped.

My body jerked slightly in surprise.

"See? One of yours. It's the only reason I didn't kill you earlier. That tone in your head... lets you recognize one of your own and they the heir-apparent."

"Heir-apparent?"

"He thinks so but then he doesn't know does he?"

"Doesn't know what?"

"He won't live to see it," she said a moment before shoving me aside, knocking me to the floor.

To my shock she fired her gun... three times in quick succession. The building fell into chaos. People began to scream and run for cover. I scrambled to get to my feet seeing the woman who held me hostage for the first time.

She was thin, dressed in a white formal dress that clung to her body in the most amazing way. She looked like a movie star from the forties with wide collars that were flipped up high above her shoulders. Her auburn hair had been swept up to one side and held in place with a touch of baby's breath. Her face held an odd, serene kind of smile. Her hand, the gun clasped tightly in it, was still extended. Slowly she turned away lowering the gun, placing it in her hand bag and then simply walked away.

Time stood still as I stood to memorize her face and a dozen people now ran for cover between she and I. She stopped, turning to look at me. She reached up to loosen her hair shaking it out to become shoulder length.

Incredibly, right before my eyes her hair began to change color becoming black. She lowered her head slightly and then as she looked up her face shifted as if the bones under her skin had begun to rearrange themselves. She suddenly looked like someone else.

She now appeared to be a woman in her fifties. Her face now held crows feet and heavy laugh lines that gave her the look of a pretentious socialite. She had aged twenty years right before my eyes.

The dress that clung to her moments before now seemed more loose in appearance with more curves at the bottom than the top... the exact opposite of her former self.

I wasn't certain if what I had seen was real or not as time began to move forward for me again.

Chaos was everywhere. The screams of those that sought to escape now flooded over me as the man she shot lay on the floor in a puddle of blood... dead.