Here's the latest installment of my current dark scifi project. This is chapter 32. If you're just tuning in, consider starting with chapters 1 and 2. Be advised that this work considers difficult subjects, including suicide. If you're in crisis, please seek help. Help is available here.
Having just participated in a workshop on becoming a GSG inspector, Anabelle ran into Bonnie in the hallway. "Bonnie," she shrieked, delivering a massive hug.
"Good to see you too," laughed Bonnie. "Sorry I couldn't make it sooner. I had a situation with my car. Someone slashed my tires and you know how fast people work where we're from."
"All day buffet?" said Anabelle. "I'm hungry."
The pair proceeded to the restaurant. Anabelle saw Peter talking with people and waved before sitting down at a nearby table. Consuming rubbery waffles and oranges from the buffet, Anabelle and Bonnie caught up. Bonnie now facilitated the only GSG in her county, and many of the locals hated the meetings, claiming they were a tool of leftist brainwashing.
"Hey wait, is that?" asked Bonnie, looking at Peter's table. "Is that Horace Gomez? From Strike 25?"
Horace heard the comment and looked over.
"It's you, isn't it?" said Bonnie. "Well, my name's Bonnie and I support all of the work that you do."
"Hey, listen, do you mind not telling anyone you saw me here?" asked Horace. "It's a matter of personal security."
"Are you in some kind of trouble?" asked Bonnie. "Anything I can do to help?"
"Not unless you happen to have a remote cabin I could hide out in," said Horace.
"I've got a yurt you could set up in my yard in rural Arkansas," said Bonnie. "What kind of trouble are you in?"
"The worst kind," said Horace.
"It's still too early to accurately asses the risk to Mr Gomez," said Weaver. "He's currently in the care of his physician, with me keeping an eye on the both of them."
"I'm the doctor," said Dr Winston. "I'd prefer to stay with Horace for the time being."
"Well, the offer is open for Go," said Bonnie. "But you two would have to find your own accommodations. Nearest hotel is twenty miles away."
"Honestly, all I want to do is sleep," said Horace. "I can do that wherever. I'm not picky."
"Oh my god," said Anabelle, looking at her phone. "Terrorist attack thwarted. 9 alleged attackers dead in federal custody. Is this what we're talking about? Peter, is this what you were telling me about?"
Peter gave Anabelle a meaningful look. "This is it," he said.
"It says here that there's a cooperating witness," said Anabelle. "Is that you?"
"I can't say," said Horace. "I'm not allowed to talk about any of it."
Weaver studied his phone for a minute, then turned red, clenching fists in an apparent attempt to control himself. "Those fuckers," he said, taking a seat, finding it hard to breathe.
"Are you okay?" asked Bonnie.
Weaver put his head down on the table for a minute, oblivious to everyone watching him. When he lifted his head up again, there were tears in his eyes. "Sorry," he said. "It's my daughter Lucy. She was being harassed by a supervisor and I helped her file a complaint. The supervisor retaliated by accusing her of mishandling classified data. She was just fired and stripped of benefits."
"That sucks," said Bonnie.
"It's the last straw is what it is," said Weaver. "A clear indication that the organization I've given my life to has been completely infiltrated by rot. It doesn't matter that thousands of agents like me do good work, day in and day out. Someone high up had to have approved of Lucy's punishment. Just like someone high up had to have looked the other way on the extrajudicial killings of those young activists. I'm not sure I can do it anymore."
"I'm to blame for the activist deaths," said Horace, too tired to maintain secrecy. "If I'd never called you, they'd still be alive and those evil fuckers getting rich off of slavery would be dead."
"Innocent people might be, too," said Weaver. "No. You did the right thing. This one's on me."
"Has it occurred to either of you that blaming yourselves for the shitty actions of other people is exactly what they want?" asked Peter. "Get real."
"Get real indeed," said Greg Shabar jovially, approaching the tables with Jo and Tom close behind. "What an incredible occasion! The whole soul group gathered in one place. We all have much to discuss. Shall we move the conversation to my suite, or do you want to continue it here?"
"Hey aren't you the guy who channels aliens?" asked Horace.
"Mr Shabar," said Weaver. "Good to see you again. But what on Earth are you talking about?"
"The events that led us all here were not coincidental," said Greg. "It's my belief that we all conspired on some level to arrive precisely where we are together. Peter, meet the soul group I said I'd help you find."
"Someone's going to have to catch me up here," said Dr Winston.
"No kidding," said Tom. "Greg, is this what you meant when you said you had a present for us?"
"Hi Horace," said Jo. "You're not looking so hot. It's good to see you again, but all I can think is to ask you what you need."
"Soul group?" asked Bonnie. "I mean, I guess you do all seem kinda familiar, even though the only one here that I really know is Anabelle."
"Let's go to the room," said Horace. "I need to lay down, and I might keep saying stuff I shouldn't if we stay here."
"Works for me," said Weaver.
"I'm free for two hours," said Jo, who had been hoping to sneak off with Tom in this rare block of unscheduled time.
"Fine," said Anabelle. "Peter told me these soul group things were important, so why not see what happens?"
(Feature image from Pixabay.)
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