Prototype TenChapter 3
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"Come on, Honey!" Karen whispered, snaking her hands sensuously inside his shirt and kissing him warmly on the back of the neck. "We're going to be late for the movie!"
"Okay, just let me finish sending this one last resume," he replied, leaning back into the kiss, "and I'll be right out. You guys go ahead and load up."
"Something will come up, Will." Karen said, hearing the desperation in his voice. "You're too good at what you do. Somebody's bound to hire you soon."
"I keep trying, sweetie," he sighed, "but I'm getting the feeling that all they want is young, impressionable kids straight out of college that they can convince to work nights and weekends for the promise of stock options. As far as they're concerned, I'm too old, too experienced, too expensive, and too family oriented. After a year and a half, the only interviews I get are those where I don't list too much experience, and once they see me, it's like a curtain falls across their faces. It doesn't matter how well I answer their questions, they already know I'm not right for the job."
He hit 'Send' and yet another resume was instantly transported to a server somewhere in nearby Silicon Valley.
"Come on." He said, standing abruptly, "Let's forget about this and take Stacy to the movies. If I can't be a success at what I've trained for, at least I can try to give my daughter some happiness."
Arm in arm, Will and Karen walked into the small living room to find ten year old Stacy waiting patiently.
"Come on, Sprite!" Will said, holding out his arms to his daughter. "Let's go see a movie!"
"Daddy!" Stacy's face lit up on seeing her father. Blonde curls flying, she launched herself into his waiting arms. "I was afraid you were going to make us late again!"
"I know, Sugar." He said, lifting her slight body onto his shoulders. "I'm sorry about last time. I just had to finish applying for that job."
"I know, Daddy." Stacy said sympathetically. "I'm just glad we're not going to be late this time!"
The drive to the multiplex cinema took only about five minutes, and for the whole trip, Stacy regaled them with tales of her friends, Sponge Bob Squarepants, Kim Possible, and even a couple of made-up stories.
Will bought the tickets at the window while Karen and Stacy waited by the door.
"Theatre Seven." The pimple-faced kid said, semi-politely as he tore their tickets in half. "Down this hallway, to your left."
There were only a few people in the theatre so far and they were able to grab Stacy's favorite seats: four rows from the front, center seats.
"Can we have popcorn this time, Daddy?" Stacy asked as they settled into the plush seats.
Will gave Karen a pleading glance over Stacy's head, receiving a smile and a 'why not' shrug in return. "Why don't you get us all sodas, too?"
"You sure?" He asked, knowing how tight their budget was these days.
"I'm sure." Karen smiled. Inwardly, she cringed at the thought of having to tell another bill collector that the payment would be a little late, but they all needed to forget about their financial troubles for a little while, and in the long run, popcorn and drinks, even at these prices, wouldn't make that much difference.
Will stopped in the restroom to empty his bladder, making sure he wouldn't have to get up during the movie, and by the time he got to the lobby, the line for snacks was very long.
Finally, after arguing with the cashier about short-changing him, Will headed back down the hallway to the theatre. He could hear the previews playing as he tried to balance the little cardboard tray on one hand so he could open the door with the other.
Without warning, the door burst outward, almost taking his hand off and slamming with tremendous force into the wall of the entrance hallway, followed instantly by a stupendous blast that knocked Will backward, drinks and popcorn flying.
In the aftermath of the blast, he could hear screaming and moans from inside the theater, through the door that now hung askew on its hinges. Knowing it couldn't have been, but hoping, anyway, that this was some sort of movie special effect, Will scrambled to his feet and rushed into the darkened theater.
The projector was still running, spraying what light there was on the tattered shreds of the projection screen. In the dim light, Will's eyes began to make out the carnage left by several pounds of nails and ball-bearings as they ripped through the audience from the bomb planted behind the screen. Blood and gore were everywhere. Around the edges of the theatre and up near the back row, a few people writhed and screamed in agony. The rest were simply bloody, unrecognizable mounds of torn, twitching flesh.
Heart in his throat, Will stumbled down the aisle to the fourth row, hoping against hope that Stacy had had to go to the bathroom, or that she and Karen had gone to see what was taking him so long. His mind refused, despite the evidence of his eyes, to identify the two ravaged carcasses next to his empty seat as his wife and daughter. The sight of a familiar pink ribbon in bloody blonde curls was just too much for him, and the next thing he knew, he was on a gurney being wheeled out of the theatre.
Flashing lights in blue and red filled his vision as the harsh, static laden sound of emergency radios assaulted his ears.
"Stacy!" he cried, struggling to rise. "Karen!"
"Take it easy buddy." The paramedic told him, placing a gentle but firm restraining hand on his shoulder. "You don't want to go back in there."
"But my wife, my daughter!" He struggled feebly against the hands that tried to hold him down.
"I'm sorry, sir." The paramedic said sympathetically, "But if your wife and daughter were the two you were trying to give CPR, there's nothing anyone can do for them, so just lie down and let me check out your injuries."
It took a few seconds for that to sink into his brain.
"Injuries?" He asked, looking down at his bloody clothing. "I-I'm not hurt. I was just coming back from the snack bar when... Oh God! Stacy! Karen! Are they... ? Were they... ?"
He couldn't bear to finish the question, nor could he accept the reluctant nod he got from the paramedic.
"NO! You've got to help them!" Will struggled again to rise from the gurney. The paramedic's response stopped him more completely than the hands on his shoulders.
"I wish to God I could, buddy!" He shook his head at his own memories. "I wish I could help all of them! Thirteen fuckin' theatres full of them, GOD DAMN IT! All that training, all those refresher courses! None of it can bring a single one of 'em back to life! You're one of the lucky ones, buddy, even if you don't feel like it right now. The rest aren't much more than hamburger!"
Like a switch thrown in his brain, Will began to understand the magnitude of the catastrophe, and his brain, always a sucker for a problem to solve began chewing on what had happened. The pain was still there — the empty, aching, feeling in his gut, and the inability to grasp that his whole life had been shattered — but for now, his mind had something else to occupy it, and he grasped at it like a drowning man for a life-ring.
"Thirteen theatres?" He asked. "But the blast came from inside the theatre!"
"Yeah, there must have been a separate device planted in each theatre. Thank god two of 'em were still being cleaned." The paramedic felt down his right arm and Will winced in sudden pain. "That's what I thought. Looks like you've got a fractured wrist there. Good thing you were out of direct line of the shrapnel. Let me splint that up and we'll get you over to the hospital for a proper cast."
"Of course." His mind said for him while his heart struggled not to burst. "A claymore planted behind each movie screen. What was the shrapnel?"
"We found a bunch of nails and ball-bearings embedded in stuff - and in people." The paramedic pumped a rubber bulb and the plastic sleeve he had velcroed around Will's arm began to inflate.
He grimaced as the sleeve put pressure on the fracture. As the paramedic was finishing up, a police officer approached with notebook in hand.
"I realize this may be a difficult time for you, sir." He said, wetting the tip of his pencil with his tongue, and Will had a momentary flash of being in an old B movie. Sure enough, the cop was using a two inch stub of a #2 wooden pencil with most of the eraser worn away. "But if you could answer a few questions while the event is still fresh in your mind, it might help us get to the bottom of this more quickly."
"Of course." Will answered, absent-mindedly, his brain still clinging to the problem of how the devices had been planted, in the vain hope that he wouldn't have to think about the grisly remains of the love of his life and his precious daughter.
"Let's start with your name." The policeman said, pencil poised over his pad.
"Uh, Will. Will Masters." He said.
"Will. Is that short for 'William?'" the cop queried.
"Uh, no." Will struggled to think. "Wilson. Wilson Masters. Sorry."
"No problem, buddy." The cop sounded sympathetic. "Were you here by yourself?"
"No, I came with my... with my..." Will broke down sobbing and the cop turned a questioning eye to the paramedic.
"We found him trying to give CPR to what was left of a woman and a little girl." The paramedic filled in. "He's been asking about his wife and daughter."
"I know this is hard, Will." The cop said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Can you confirm that you were here with your wife and daughter?"
For some reason, the policeman's sympathy only made things worse and Will sobbed even harder when the big hand settled on his shoulder, but managed to nod in the affirmative.
"What were their names?"
"S-stacy..." Will answered, trying not to let his grief take control again. "She's my daughter. Prettiest little girl in the world!"
"I'll bet." The officer said. "What did she look like?"
"Blonde, curly hair," Will lost himself in the vision for a moment, "down to her shoulders. The brightest blue eyes you ever saw, and when she smiles, it lights up the whole room!"
"How old was she?"
"Ten." Will answered, clinging to the memory. "We just celebrated her tenth birthday. We couldn't afford to give her a gift and a party, but she wanted to have the party anyway, so she could share her happiness with her friends. She's always been like that, you know. Give you the shirt off her back if she thinks you need it more than her."
"What about your wife?" Will was staring off into space and didn't notice the cop swiping at his eyes.
"Karen." Will's voice softened as he thought of the love of his life. "She's my rock. I don't know how I would have made it through these last couple of years without her. Stacy has her eyes, and even though her hair is a little darker than Stacy's they wear it the same way. Like two peas in a pod! "
"How old was she?" The cop asked, cutting his reminiscence short.
"Thirty-three." Will smiled, thinking of how she had come into his life when he thought he was condemned to lifelong bachelorhood. "Way too young for me, but she seems — seemed happy being with me."
At the realization that he had been speaking of them as if they were still alive, Will broke down again. The policeman waited a few moments before continuing.
"Were there any others here with you?"
"N-uh, n-no." Will struggled to get his crying under control.
"Don't take this wrong, Will," the cop said, "but how did you manage to get away relatively unscathed?"
"I-I went to get p-popcorn!" His shoulders shook for several seconds. "S-shouldn't have left them! Couldn't really afford the damn popcorn anyway! I should have been with them! If I'd been ten seconds faster I would have been with them! If only I hadn't been so damned upset about the change! Who cares if it's a nickel short?!"
"What happened then?" The policeman asked.
"I was taking the popcorn and drinks back to the theatre. D-door blew out as I was reaching for the handle. Guess that's how I got this." He held up his splinted wrist.
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