Read Online The Darkfall Switch by David Lindsley - Free Book Online
Authors: David Lindsley
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guy from the State Department called by here yesterday and told us you’d be coming to meet with us. Name of Worzniak, Joe Worzniak. Know him?’
Seeing Foster shake his head, Proctor continued, ‘Fact is, my wife’s quite excited by all this; we’ve never heard of any of our circle getting calls like that. And visitors from England? Not many of those lately.’
Foster was still considering the implications of Proctor’s statement as they entered the cool interior of the house but he broke free of his thoughts and said, ‘You have a beautiful house, Mr Proctor.’
‘Cyrus, please. Glad you like it. This was a farm once.’ He nodded to indicate a barn at the far edge of the property. ‘Some of the original working buildings are still here, like that barn over there. Things keep changing. Once, farming was what everybody did around these parts. Then industry came along: foundries, mills, manufacturers of all sorts, including clocks and watches. The farmers probably complained about the loss of jobs then, and now the wheel’s turned right round and the industries are gone. Or at least, they’re fading away.’
‘It’s the same everywhere,’ Foster agreed.
They entered the reception room where Proctor’s wife was waiting. She was a petite redhead and she offered her hand. ‘Dr Foster, I’m Hilary. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you. But first, what’ll you drink?’
Foster doubted they’d have Balvenie so he said, ‘Can I have a Scotch please?’ Then, quickly, knowing the American habit of chilling everything to the point of extinction, he added, ‘No ice. Just a drop of water. Oh, and by the way, I’m Dan.’
‘OK, Dan,’ she said, smiling, ‘and yes, we have some twelve-year malt: Glenmorangie. Would that be OK?’
His smile showed his real pleasure. He nodded and she went over to a large Shaker-style cabinet to pour the drinks, saying over her shoulder, ‘Your usual Martini, honey?’
Drinks in hands, they settled back on two settees and Proctor asked, ‘Forgive me if I’m too blunt, but I’d appreciate you telling me what’s going on. The guy yesterday said that Luke, our son, had gotten involved with something, and that an expert was coming over from England to talk with him. That’s all he’d tell, but it was enough. Kind of took the shine off the excitement.’
Foster was amazed. He had expected the Proctors to have been told a little more about their son’s activities, if not the devastating consequences, rather than leave it to him to break the news. Still, he had no option but to press on. ‘This man Worzniak, did he talk to Luke?’
The Proctors exchanged worried glances. ‘Well, yes,’ the husband responded. ‘I don’t know what he said, and Luke said it was nothing. Would you believe that? Nothing! Somebody from the State Department appears, out of the blue, to talk to a teenager and it’s nothing. And Luke’s been acting pretty strange since then.’
‘Luke’s … well, he’s kind of quiet,’ Hilary Proctor elaborated. Her voice was soft, her expression concerned. ‘Real nice, but quiet. It’s been difficult of late, him being our only son. We tried not to spoil him, but since he’s started … well, growing up, we’ve had a few problems….’
‘He’s just darned ornery at times,’ her husband growled. ‘Teenager stuff, but at times we’ve just not known how to communicate with him. And now, after Worzniak’s visit, he’s just clammed up completely. We can’t get a thing out of him about what’s been going on.’
‘He closets himself in his bedroom for hours with his computer,’ Mrs Proctor said, ‘and we sometimes wonder if he gets any sleep. But we can’t persuade him to get more fresh air, to meet other young people.’
Her husband said, ‘He’s got a circle of pals – well, acquaintances I’d call them, not friends – but they’re all loners like him.’
His wife looked at Foster earnestly. Her eyes showed her strain
Seeing Foster shake his head, Proctor continued, ‘Fact is, my wife’s quite excited by all this; we’ve never heard of any of our circle getting calls like that. And visitors from England? Not many of those lately.’
Foster was still considering the implications of Proctor’s statement as they entered the cool interior of the house but he broke free of his thoughts and said, ‘You have a beautiful house, Mr Proctor.’
‘Cyrus, please. Glad you like it. This was a farm once.’ He nodded to indicate a barn at the far edge of the property. ‘Some of the original working buildings are still here, like that barn over there. Things keep changing. Once, farming was what everybody did around these parts. Then industry came along: foundries, mills, manufacturers of all sorts, including clocks and watches. The farmers probably complained about the loss of jobs then, and now the wheel’s turned right round and the industries are gone. Or at least, they’re fading away.’
‘It’s the same everywhere,’ Foster agreed.
They entered the reception room where Proctor’s wife was waiting. She was a petite redhead and she offered her hand. ‘Dr Foster, I’m Hilary. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you. But first, what’ll you drink?’
Foster doubted they’d have Balvenie so he said, ‘Can I have a Scotch please?’ Then, quickly, knowing the American habit of chilling everything to the point of extinction, he added, ‘No ice. Just a drop of water. Oh, and by the way, I’m Dan.’
‘OK, Dan,’ she said, smiling, ‘and yes, we have some twelve-year malt: Glenmorangie. Would that be OK?’
His smile showed his real pleasure. He nodded and she went over to a large Shaker-style cabinet to pour the drinks, saying over her shoulder, ‘Your usual Martini, honey?’
Drinks in hands, they settled back on two settees and Proctor asked, ‘Forgive me if I’m too blunt, but I’d appreciate you telling me what’s going on. The guy yesterday said that Luke, our son, had gotten involved with something, and that an expert was coming over from England to talk with him. That’s all he’d tell, but it was enough. Kind of took the shine off the excitement.’
Foster was amazed. He had expected the Proctors to have been told a little more about their son’s activities, if not the devastating consequences, rather than leave it to him to break the news. Still, he had no option but to press on. ‘This man Worzniak, did he talk to Luke?’
The Proctors exchanged worried glances. ‘Well, yes,’ the husband responded. ‘I don’t know what he said, and Luke said it was nothing. Would you believe that? Nothing! Somebody from the State Department appears, out of the blue, to talk to a teenager and it’s nothing. And Luke’s been acting pretty strange since then.’
‘Luke’s … well, he’s kind of quiet,’ Hilary Proctor elaborated. Her voice was soft, her expression concerned. ‘Real nice, but quiet. It’s been difficult of late, him being our only son. We tried not to spoil him, but since he’s started … well, growing up, we’ve had a few problems….’
‘He’s just darned ornery at times,’ her husband growled. ‘Teenager stuff, but at times we’ve just not known how to communicate with him. And now, after Worzniak’s visit, he’s just clammed up completely. We can’t get a thing out of him about what’s been going on.’
‘He closets himself in his bedroom for hours with his computer,’ Mrs Proctor said, ‘and we sometimes wonder if he gets any sleep. But we can’t persuade him to get more fresh air, to meet other young people.’
Her husband said, ‘He’s got a circle of pals – well, acquaintances I’d call them, not friends – but they’re all loners like him.’
His wife looked at Foster earnestly. Her eyes showed her strain
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