Read Online The Messiah Choice (1985) by Jack L. Chalker - Free Book Online
Authors: Jack L. Chalker
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everyone, and, down there, I lost the only family and the only true friend I ever really had these past seven years. I am an heiress, true, but everyone here is either fearing for his job or currying favor or seeking advantage. I am not a human being to them, either, and I can't be their friend or they mine. One of them killed my father and may have terrible plans for me."
He looked up sharply. "Why do you think that? Just nerves?"
She told him about the dark figure in her father's office, and was pleased when he did not immediately dismiss it.
"It was a man-like shape?" he asked her. "Average height and build?"
"I would say. I only saw it briefly. You do not think I am hysterical?" Her voice was quietly hopeful.
He shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I might if you were the first, but you aren't. A number of people both at the Institute and in town have reported similar things. They're mostly dismissed, but the evidence accumulates. The villagers call him simply the Dark Man. Some of them think he's a ghost or spirit."
"You mean—my father?"
"No, the sightings predate his death by several months. Some of our scientists have seen him, too. They won't admit it, but you can see it in their faces when the subject comes up. Some references in your father's notes and papers indicate that he, too, had seen it more than once and was trying to track it down. He didn't think it was any spirit, though, and neither do I."
"But you have not personally seen him?"
"No, but your description tallies with the others, leaving out the fear factor."
"Yet he vanished where there was no place to run!"
"I didn't say he was actually there, only that you saw him. We don't know all of the experiments going on up there, and we don't know all the equipment the security forces have and use—but I'd say it's a dead certainty they know just where both of us are right now and even odds they're monitoring this whole conversation somehow. What I don't know is if it connects in any way to your father's murder. It may have everything to do with it—or nothing."
"I am feeling more afraid and uncertain every moment, yet—where can I go? You can see now what I was trying to tell you? Right now, you are the only one on this island who was both not here at the time of the murder and who has no vested interest in his death or my future other than Sister Maria, and I really do not know her all that well, either."
"She's not from the convent?"
"Oh, yes, but she has not been there long. She trained at the Center in Montreal with the kind of equipment I need and use, like this chair, but after I was there. I am a patient to her, not a friend, and if I do not give this all up and return and take my vows she will be gone very quick." She sighed. "Don't you see? It is not my affliction but my position that is the occasion for pity. I am alone. Monsieur MacDonald— Greg—what I need is a friend, a confidant. You are correct—I truly know you not at all. But you are here, and I need someone. If you are that someone, then I must reach out to you."
He stood there a moment, trying to think. O.K., MacDonald, this is one turn you didn't consider, eh? Beautiful, handicapped daughter of murder victim under investigation who stands to inherit a billion or two pleads for your friendship. Damn it! I didn't even think they'd let me near her without ten bodyguards, twenty nurses, and a security force.
And yet, in spite of everything, he really liked her. He hadn't expected to, and certainly hadn't expected her to be what she was, but she had one hell of a mind behind that pretty face, and a willingness to gamble. "All right, Angie. I'll be your friend." He said it sincerely and he meant it.
"Greg—thank you. Now, will you be honest with me?"
"I'll try."
"Do you think you will discover who killed my father?"
He nodded. "Yes, Angie, I think so. It's too spectacular and too messy to cover up forever.
Also, I fear, just because of the way it is done it is the
He looked up sharply. "Why do you think that? Just nerves?"
She told him about the dark figure in her father's office, and was pleased when he did not immediately dismiss it.
"It was a man-like shape?" he asked her. "Average height and build?"
"I would say. I only saw it briefly. You do not think I am hysterical?" Her voice was quietly hopeful.
He shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I might if you were the first, but you aren't. A number of people both at the Institute and in town have reported similar things. They're mostly dismissed, but the evidence accumulates. The villagers call him simply the Dark Man. Some of them think he's a ghost or spirit."
"You mean—my father?"
"No, the sightings predate his death by several months. Some of our scientists have seen him, too. They won't admit it, but you can see it in their faces when the subject comes up. Some references in your father's notes and papers indicate that he, too, had seen it more than once and was trying to track it down. He didn't think it was any spirit, though, and neither do I."
"But you have not personally seen him?"
"No, but your description tallies with the others, leaving out the fear factor."
"Yet he vanished where there was no place to run!"
"I didn't say he was actually there, only that you saw him. We don't know all of the experiments going on up there, and we don't know all the equipment the security forces have and use—but I'd say it's a dead certainty they know just where both of us are right now and even odds they're monitoring this whole conversation somehow. What I don't know is if it connects in any way to your father's murder. It may have everything to do with it—or nothing."
"I am feeling more afraid and uncertain every moment, yet—where can I go? You can see now what I was trying to tell you? Right now, you are the only one on this island who was both not here at the time of the murder and who has no vested interest in his death or my future other than Sister Maria, and I really do not know her all that well, either."
"She's not from the convent?"
"Oh, yes, but she has not been there long. She trained at the Center in Montreal with the kind of equipment I need and use, like this chair, but after I was there. I am a patient to her, not a friend, and if I do not give this all up and return and take my vows she will be gone very quick." She sighed. "Don't you see? It is not my affliction but my position that is the occasion for pity. I am alone. Monsieur MacDonald— Greg—what I need is a friend, a confidant. You are correct—I truly know you not at all. But you are here, and I need someone. If you are that someone, then I must reach out to you."
He stood there a moment, trying to think. O.K., MacDonald, this is one turn you didn't consider, eh? Beautiful, handicapped daughter of murder victim under investigation who stands to inherit a billion or two pleads for your friendship. Damn it! I didn't even think they'd let me near her without ten bodyguards, twenty nurses, and a security force.
And yet, in spite of everything, he really liked her. He hadn't expected to, and certainly hadn't expected her to be what she was, but she had one hell of a mind behind that pretty face, and a willingness to gamble. "All right, Angie. I'll be your friend." He said it sincerely and he meant it.
"Greg—thank you. Now, will you be honest with me?"
"I'll try."
"Do you think you will discover who killed my father?"
He nodded. "Yes, Angie, I think so. It's too spectacular and too messy to cover up forever.
Also, I fear, just because of the way it is done it is the
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