Wolf of the Tesseract

Chapter 13

"Help. Oh God, I think I've been roofied." Vivian read the text on the cellphone she'd recently stolen from Jackie and smiled. Charsk's psychics had delivered on their promise. For the next couple days, Claire would barely be more capable than a drunken amnesiac.

The tall, blood-splattered grass crunched underfoot. Vivian kicked an empty bottle of Jack Daniels out of the way while she barked orders to her crew at the Kechewaishke property. "Burn the whole place down; eliminate all the evidence." She glanced down at Brock's body; he lay where he'd bled out in the grass. "Including this. I've got a new lead to follow up on."

Jackie's text had come in from a phone number that Vivian didn't recognize: an anonymous prepaid phone, no doubt. She was certain the text had come from Claire. Where are you? I'm coming to get you! She responded, pretending to be Jackie.

Nothing makes sense! I think I know this guy, but he's talking crazy! I think I'm hearing voices in my head! The doctors must be right!

Vivian couldn't contain the grin that crawled across her face. Just when the trail had gone cold on the island, she'd caught a break.

Can't tell James! Don't tell him I'm with another guy! Vivian had to credit Charsk's troops. The poison overruling her strong-willed nature must have helped endear Claire to Nitthogr's James persona again.

I'll text when I get back to Duluth. He's driving. Doesn't know I have a phone. Be there soon. Will text a location, Claire's final text read.

Stuffing Jackie's phone into her pocket, Vivian quickly pulled out her encrypted work phone and dialed a contact of her own. If she called in a favor and secured a helicopter, she would probably beat Claire back to Duluth.

Rob led Claire by the hand through the little café and seated her at a table. She still seemed like a walking zombie. Debilitated by the twilight poison, she'd regressed to a mental age of about thirteen years old, and suffered random bouts of complete disassociation.

He sat her down and looked out the window, hoping that Ma was right and that it would soon wear off. The nearby sporting goods store closed soon and he needed to gather a few supplies immediately. He scanned the sidewalks. All seemed relatively calm.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Rob asked a nearby barista. An older woman, she wore a denim smock and an Ask me about Jesus button; she seemed to radiate positivity. Rob thought her a more trustworthy person than any other options.

The middle aged woman looked up from behind the counter. She smiled warmly in reply. "How can I help you?"

"Can you keep an eye on my friend for just a few minutes while she drinks her coffee?" He pointed to Claire who sipped on the hot cup and grimaced.

Claire turned to Rob and fixed her befuddled eyes on him. "Are you sure I like coffee," she called with a drunk-like cadence.

Rob twirled his fingers near his temples, indicating mental disorder to the woman. "I'm trying to get my friend the help she needs, but I need to step across the street for just five minutes. Can you just make sure that she doesn't go anywhere before I get back?"

The woman bobbed her head sympathetically. "Well, it's not too busy at the moment. I'll see what I can do." She leaned forward to whisper in her heavy Scandinavian accent, "but if she insists on leaving, I can't keep her here, you know."

"I know," he commented. Rob assured her, "Five minutes?"

She slipped her hands into the pouch on her apron. "Sure, and I admire what you're doing." She took out two tiny pamphlets from the pocket and slipped them into his hand.