The Last Handful of Clover - Book 3: The Stone in the Stream

3.30 Even God Forgets

June 16, 1:22 pm

Susan Jarvis didn't think she was going to die. At least, not at first. Sutton had a strange sense of humor, but pulling a gun on her seemed beyond the pale. Her first instinct was to tell him that this wasn't funny, and that this was no time to be fucking around.

But then she saw the look in his eyes, and the absolute lack of even an ironic smile on his face, and her blood ran cold. She sank back against the door, struggling to keep her blossoming terror from making her black out.

But she didn't faint, and she didn't die. And slowly, she raised her hands in the universal gesture of submission.

As her surprise faded, she wanted to yell at Sutton, to ask him what the Sam Hell he was doing, but something in his strange expression told her she needed to stay silent, and that anything she might say could push him to pulling that trigger.

For what she saw was madness—cold, calculating, and complete. So instead of railing at him or even just screaming for help, she stood there mute, as he used the barrel of the gun to indicate he wanted her to sit in the heavy wooden chair across from his desk.

"Right here, if you please," he said, in a voice that seemed unlike the man she had known and worked with for so long.

He forced her back into the chair, and she watched helplessly as he used two pairs of handcuffs from his desk to secure her. He snapped the cuffs on the back legs on each side, which left her hands pulled uncomfortably down over the hard wooden arms. Her shoulders began to ache immediately. But with the sound of the handcuffs clicking, she breathed a sigh, realizing that he didn't mean to kill her. At least, not right away.

How could I not have seen this? she wondered, desperately searching Sutton's face for a clue. People don't just go mad all of the sudden. It takes time. How could I not have seen this in him? With a start, she realized the only plausible answer. Something horrible happened to him in Salt Lake. Something that snapped his mind like a piece of chalk... Or is that too easy?

Finally, she allowed her tongue to unglue itself from the roof of her mouth, and she realized she had been clenching her jaws so tightly that it hurt to open them.

"Sutton, what..." she said, not sure how to continue. Finally, she just said, "Sutton, what are you doing? What happened to you in Salt Lake City?"

To her dismay, her boss didn't even bother to acknowledge her question. She thought she heard him humming a tune under his breath, and that scared her more than the handcuffs or the gun. The thought that Sutton had lost his mind seemed like a conclusion she could not help but draw, and if that was true, then she had no idea how this might end.

Finally, Deary sat heavily in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. From one drawer he pulled out a well-worn pipe and a pouch of tobacco. Susan had never seen Deary smoke, not once in all the years she had known him. But to her shock, he filled the pipe and lit it with a match, like an expert. She stared at him, dumbfounded, as he blew smoke rings up at the ceiling.

Oh my god, she thought, a new conclusion rushing through her brain in a torrent. Maybe this is what is happening to people in Salt Lake City! Sutton's brought it back with him! It must be what they said, some kind of virus. And now he has it! The thought of catching his insanity now terrified her as much as the gun on the desk, and the smug and homicidal expression on her commanding officer's face.

Sutton continued to puff on the pipe, his feet on the desk. The smoke curled lazily around his head in the midday sun, which was streaming in the window. He didn't speak, but he watched her.

"Sutton, listen to me," she said, keeping her voice as steady as she was able. "I think you're sick. I think you have this... thing. They think it's a virus. We have to get you some help."