When Larry woke up the morning after he was feeling surprisingly good. Truth be told, he hadn’t felt like that for ages. The past night had been a test to Larry’s endeavor. Luckily for him, his soul wasn’t taken by any demons from this or from any other world. Even his sanity was left untouched.

So far everything was good. So far. There was still the matter of finding Jarod. Larry had his own personal resources to help him locate his target—the Shifter—Jarod. His instincts told him Jarod was still in the United States. But Uncle Sam’s land was a very big land and Larry was alone in his quest. He wished he could ask someone for help.

A long time ago, more than he could remember perfectly to recall all the details, Larry had a friend in The Centre. Someone he had met in his old twenties at a bookshop in Namur, southern Belgium, a year before he met his wife, Laura. He and the stranger began discussing about an essay and quickly became good friends. It was almost like meeting someone at a bar—like the doctor, for example. The basic difference was the fact that Larry knew his friend’s name. In fact, he could refer to him as a friend not just someone he knew.

They would meet once a week at a local bar and talk about various subjects; from fishing—Larry had found someone who enjoyed fishing almost as much as he did—to books and women.

There were other differences as well. Larry, unlike his friend, was not a doctor, but he wasn’t a dumb fisherman either. He had a very good memory and he was an excellent learner; he just didn’t like school. Its discipline and rules reminded him too much of a part of his own childhood. A part he didn’t like to remember.

Two months after their first meeting, they both went their own ways. Larry returned to France—ten months later he met Laura—, his friend went to the States to find work.

Throughout the following years, Larry and his friends kept their conversations updated by becoming pen-pals. Larry would write about Laura and his fishing trips; his friend would write about his researches at the company where he and his brother were working.

Larry had never been told where this company was, nor did he know its name. One day he decided to ask. The answer didn’t surprise him. He knew it before asking but wanted, needed, to confirm it—The Centre.

Larry didn’t write back for a whole year. When he finally did, after his wife pushed him to do so, he told his friend about his personal relation with The Centre. His friend wrote back and explained that The Centre was a place of pure evil and that his and others’ lives were in danger.

A few months later, one of Larry’s letters was sent back with a note written by someone else. The note simply said:

Jacob is no more. The Voices advise you to wait.

C. P.

Poor Jacob. Larry thought. If only you were still alive, I’d have someone to help me.

He needed a new ally. Someone who could help him to narrow the gap between him and Jarod. That was an urgent matter; although not one as urgent as the one presented to himself at the time. Each and every morning when he’d wake up, his bladder would reach the critical level during the night. Now he felt full, almost painfully full; a going to the bathroom was at hand.

*/*

Hours later, Larry was flying over the Atlantic. Two hours had passed since he boarded the plane and the flight was going on smoothly. On his private screen, he had a classic from Jacques Tati playing, although he was not paying much attention to it. Instead, Larry was lying back on his seat, with his eyes closed. He was drifting into himself, into his memory, recalling lost moments he would be wise not to think about.

*/*

The Centre

SL 2—Private School

1942—Early October

The room was displayed like a normal classroom: six children, no older than five years old, were seated in individual desks, aligned in two rows. Each child was writing a test.

The teacher was a tall, thin man with grey hair, even though he was probably still in his thirties. He was referred to as Mr. Edwards and had a look that would keep his colleagues cautious and his students afraid and at bay.

The room was extremely quiet, each of the children concentrated on what they were doing.

Mr. Edwards checked his watch and waited a few moments before saying: “Children, please stop writing. . .now.”

The children immediately stopped writing. Mr. Edwards was gathering the tests when someone knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened and a man in his near fifties entered the room, followed by two children and a nurse. One of the children was wearing an oxygen mask, while the nurse carried a small oxygen tank.

“Mr. Parker. I wasn’t expecting—”

Mr. Parker cut him off with a simple, yet effective, stare. Mr. Edwards did not retort. Mr. Parker seemed to inspire fear on everyone, even on a man like Mr. Edwards. “I’m bringing my son and this boy to this class. I expect you to treat them as normal students. No less, preferably no more.”

“May I ask who this other boy is?” Mr. Edwards asked, obviously referring to the child wearing the mask. He already knew Mr. Parker’s son. The all staff knew. He looked very innocent, like a normal five year old, but there was something in him. Something that made some people uncomfortable. The worst part was no one knew why this happened. It just did.

“Is name is William Raines. Who he is or where he is from is not of your concern. Or his, by that matter.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I have a meeting at The Tower in fifteen minutes. How’re the rest of them doing so far?”

“They just finished the first test.”

“Good. How long before the results?”

“Next month, if all goes to plan.”

“Make sure it does.”

“Of course, Mr. Parker. I will.”

Mr. Parker took a look around and then left the room. Mr. Edwards indicated the new students to their seats. Young William sat next to a boy with curly hair and looked into his eyes. The boy felt a sting down his spine, like he was looking into the eyes of a demon. Or worse.

The boy swallowed, tried to move as away as he could. Young William just kept on smiling. Then, he looked at his other new colleague, Mr. Parker’s son, expecting to find some sort of support. What he found was even more frightening than what he had seen when he’d looked into young William’s eyes.

He wanted to go away, needed to go away, but he couldn’t. He was too afraid to make the slightest movement. Then he heard Mr. Edwards' chilling voice, speaking directly to him, and he became even more frightened.

“Mr. Summerson, I have warned you several times about this kind of behavior. It seems to me that my warnings didn’t have the necessary importance to you that they should have had.”

Young Larry Summerson decided to choose that moment to speak. He knew it was wrong, dangerous, to interrupt Mr. Edwards while he was speaking, but Larry needed to say something; he needed to warn the teacher and the rest of the class about the new students. They needed to be warned of how evil these children were—or would be. Instead, what he said was no more than a very shy: “I’m sorry, Mr. Edwards.”

Mr. Edwards put his pen inside his breast pocket and took a deep breath. That was not a good sign.

“I don’t like. Matter of fact, I hate to be interrupted.” He walked to young Larry and grabbed his arm. “You’re no different than anyone else here, understand?”

Young Larry nodded frantically.

“Good. I expect no further insubordination from this moment on or I promise you, I will make you regret it.”

*/*

Over The Atlantic

Present Time

Larry opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew better than going back into such dreadful remembrances, but he had been unable to avoid it. In a way, it had been good. It had served as a reminder of what he was about to reencounter in the near future.

The movie credits were beginning to roll, but Larry’s story was far from over.

*/*

The Centre

SL17—Dr. Summerson’s Office

1942—Late October

Dr. Summerson was a man in his forties. His trimmed beard matched perfectly with his short round glasses. He was a man of science, as the framed diplomas hanging on the walls showed, but he was also a man of family. A picture of himself, his wife and a baby Larry was proof of that.

Yet, in spite his possessions—both material and spiritual—Dr. Summerson was not a happy man; at least, not at the moment. And all because of the contents of the envelope he had received from an unknown source. Inside the envelope was a copy of the results of the tests performed on his son and the rest of the staff’s children. There was also a handwritten note, saying that he and his family should take precautions.

The test had been taken at the beginning of the month at Mr. Edward’s class. Larry had revealed himself as a very intelligent boy but, unfortunately, that hadn’t been all. His blood analysis also showed that his son had a small anomaly in his blood. What that anomaly was or what it could do was still unknown—for the outside doctors anyway.

Dr. Summerson, as the head of the Genetics Department, knew better than letting his son be tested. Even though it was a company policy, he should have at least tried to tamper the results. He was one of the few people who could that do without raising suspicion. The problem was that the other two people with access to the Bodily Fluid Storage Facility were Robert Haring, also responsible for another Centre institution known as NuGenesis, and the chairman himself, Mr. Parker. And if Mr. Parker were to discover Dr. Summerson’s doings, he and his family wouldn’t have a long life. And if they did, it wouldn’t be a very pleasant one.

Damn! What the hell was he thinking?! Once Mr. Parker saw the results he knew what was going to happen. They would get rid of him and his wife and take his son under their care, to do as they wished. That was also another one of the company’s policies. Only this time, he would do something to, if not to stop it, at least to diminish its consequences. So, he picked up his phone and called the only person he trusted to set a meeting. Once he did that, he opened up his drawer and put the envelope and the papers inside. He closed the drawer and locked it.

There was still fifteen minutes before his expedient was over. He grabbed his coat and left the office. Today, he and his wife would go home earlier.

*/*

The Centre

The Tower—Top Floor—Mr. Parker’s Office

1942—Early November

Inside his office, a very irritated Mr. Parker examined some reports, while Mr. Edwards tried his best to maintain a low profile.

“Does anyone know about this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Damn.” He pounded on his desk and thought about what to do. “Contact Sanders and inform him of the situation. He will know what to do.”

“What about Dr. Summerson?”

“Sanders will know what to do.”

“That’s not what I meant, Mr. Parker. We are going need a new head for the Genetics Department.”

“I already took care of that. Dr. Haring will provide the necessary assistance.”

Mr. Parker resumed his readings. Mr. Edwards just stood there.

“Are you planning to stay here for the rest of your life?”

There was no humor on that phrase and Mr. Edwards knew it. If he had made the mistake of answering yes to a question like that, Mr. Parker’s response would probably be to shoot him right there. He knew what to say. “No. I was just leaving.”

And that he did.

*/*

Over The Atlantic

Present Time

Larry looked through the window and understood the purpose of the clouds. They would hide the heaven above from mere mortals, but also keep men’s evil doings from showing too much.

So many lives destroyed and for what purpose? And then it came again. . .

*/*

The Centre

The Tower—Top Floor—Secret Office

1943—Mid January

Mr. Parker entered the office. A man in his seventies was sitting at his desk waiting for him.

“Well, have you found out anything about his whereabouts?”

“He’s in Europe. We’re still trying to narrow it down to a more precise location.”

“I ALREADY know he’s in Europe. When are you going to bring me more relevant information?”

“He’s hard to locate. His uncle is covering their tracks very well.”

“We should have killed his entire family, not just his parents. Get me that boy. We need him for the project.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Leave now, I have a lot on my mind to focus.”

Mr. Parker turned and left without saying a word. The chain of command came from the old man. No one was above him. Yet. He knew that after the old man’s demise, he would be put on the Chairman seat. This time for real.

He hated having to pretend he was the chairman. He wanted the real thing. He was tired of being his father’s lackey, his errand boy. People thought his father was already dead, but he knew how many times his father had cheated death.

The moment was almost coming. Son would follow father and the idea of accelerating the process was running seductively through his mind. No time for moral ramblings on The Centre. It was survival of the fittest, the law of the jungle. His father had killed his other family before leaving Carthis.

He would do exactly the same if it became necessary in order to achieve the high ranks of power.

*/*

Over The Atlantic

Present Time

Larry shook his head once the visions ended. The pilot announced on the P. A. system that the plane would be landing in approximately twenty minutes. Larry took a tissue from his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

Soon, very soon, the first part of his journey would be over. After that, no one, not even God, could tell what was bound to happen.