| Against Their Will |
Excerpt from Chapter 1
Infernal stoplight. Could it take any longer to change? A restless, churning energy brewed
inside Max Duncan. He standing still was impossible. He shifted from foot to foot and uttered
obscenities as he glared at the crowd pressing against him. Cars swept past, slinging stifling,
muggy, Houston air in his face. “I don’t have time for this,” he mumbled. Some nearby
frowned.
The signal finally changed and Max raced across the scorching pavement, heat radiating from
it like an oven; hot enough to melt wax. He stopped in front of the bank. His reflection stared
at him from the tinted glass windows. With a stubby forefinger, he dabbed at a smudge on his
forehead. Lately, it was as if the years were melting away, like a River Birch’s curling bark
peeling away to reveal the pristine white trunk beneath. If it weren’t for that hideous tag of
skin growing under his jaw, he could be on the next cover of People’s “Sexiest Men Alive”
issue. But that tag. It had only appeared recently. It was just a flap of extra skin, ridged like a
gill, but with no color. He shrugged. Youth and energy, the two greatest forces in life, they
were all that mattered. Lately, he seemed to have a lot of each. And though he didn’t
understand why he’d been blessed with such gifts, he never questioned the generosity of any
giver.
Max glided through the brass-trimmed doors of the old bank and into the marble-floored,
cavernous lobby. He sniffed. Despite artificially cooled air, he could smell it, money, old
money. It was like slipping into a favorite pair of jeans, comfortable, comforting. Odd, he
didn’t remember being around it before.
At the teller’s window, Max pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, glanced at it and then
said, “Uh, a Mr. Gerald Humminger, please.”
“May I tell him who wishes to see him?”
“Yes,” Max said, as he patted his tie. “Tell him Max Duncan is here.”
Soon a tall gentleman in the dark, cut-to-perfection uniform of the business world
approached and extended his bony hand.
“So, it's Max now, is it?” Gerald Humminger grinned. “What a pleasant surprise! I certainly
didn’t expect to see you again, at least not so soon.” He gripped Max’s elbow and spoke
close to his ear. “But, I must say, you’re looking better than ever- at least ten years younger.
You must tell me about this youth potion you’ve obviously discovered!”
Max’s fat fingers encircled the man’s bony ones as they shook hands, but Max’s brows
knitted into a frown. Who was this guy?
Moments later, seated in a leather chair in Humminger’s office, Max studied the man. How
could Mr. Humminger be surprised to see him again? He had never met the lanky banker
before. As the thought traversed the cranial paths of Max’s mind, a small chisel started
hammering inside his skull. The throbbing was moderate, just enough to make Max grimace.
He pushed the heel of his hand against his forehead.
“Are you all right?” Gerald leaned forward and squinted. Max nodded. “Want some ice
water, perhaps, something stronger?”
Max shook his head. “No... thanks.”
“Well then, what brings you here today? Last I knew, you were in some federal prison. It
seems I heard something about an inmate stabbing you.” Humminger giggled. “I believe it was
with a fork! Even heard you didn’t make it. But, looks like not only you resurrected yourself,
new name and all, but you shaved a few years off while you were at it. If it wasn’t some magic
youth potion, then it must’ve been one incredible plastic surgeon!”
Max stared at Gerald, his expression blank. Gerald’s smile faded. “Look, we’re old buddies.
I’ve held your hand through the worst of them. This room is safe. You can tell old Gerald
what’s really going on.”
“Going on? Nothing’s going on. I’m fine, far as I know.” Max shifted in his seat and pulled a
handkerchief from his pocket and swiped it across his forehead. “Look, I need to make a
transfer. I’ve got to split twenty million between three accounts. One’s in the Grand Caymans.
The others are in Switzerland.”
“Twenty million? You have that much left? I thought our ‘I-feel-your-pain’ Uncle took all
your possessions. IRS and all.”
All his possessions? He was simply transferring money on behalf of his new employer.
“It’s not mine,” Max said as he pushed a sealed envelope across the polished desk. “It’s my
employer’s. The authorization’s there,” he added, pointing at the envelope.
“New employer, huh? You not only flirted with death, cheated and won; you’re also not
wasting any time getting new work, are you?” Gerald tore open the envelope and quickly read
the single sheet inside. “Says here this is your money, and you want it split between three
accounts opened nearly five years ago.” Gerald dropped the sheet and stared at Max. “Want
to tell me the real truth? What’s going on, Milo?”
“Milo?” Max frowned. “I tell you, nothing’s going on. Never in my life have I had money like
that!” The chisel in his skull morphed to a jackhammer.
“Milo, Max, whatever. You’ve never had that little money in your life. You’re used to
handling many times more than a paltry sum of twenty million. You controlled accounts the
world over. The Grand Caymans was just play money. That’s why you can’t remember!”
Gerald grinned as he patted Max’s shaking hand. “Sure, it must be hard giving up what you
had. Looks like you’re on your way back, though. Pull a few wise investments and in no time
you’ll have all you had before, plus some.”
Max tried to swallow, but so much saliva had accumulated, it threatened to overflow and
dribble down his chin. Without warning, a wave of nausea slammed into him, sending a sweat
river down his cheeks. Somehow, he managed a smile as he nodded at Gerald.
“Very well.” Gerald stood. “You must sign the proper forms and all that. You know the
routine.” He rounded the desk and started for the door. “Sit back and relax. My secretary will
take care of everything.” The door shut behind him.
Max tried to stop shaking but couldn’t. Ringing echoed in his ears. A frantic urgency pushed
and pulled at his insides. He started pacing. It felt as if he would die if he stopped moving.
Back and forth in front of the wall of windows, he paced. On the street below, traffic and
pedestrians flowed. Heat shimmered off the pavement. Max stared at them and wondered
why he envied them.
Soon, Gerald breezed through the door, a small stack of documents in hand.
Max pointed at the papers. “Where do I sign?”
“Here and here, and wherever you see yellow highlighting.” Gerald pointed at the various
blanks. “These forms authorize this bank to move the money you requested to the accounts
you specified. Soon as they’re signed, we’ll enter the instructions and wait for confirmation. It
shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
The signing completed, Max shoved the papers back to Gerald who then took them to
someone waiting outside the door. As suddenly as it had come over him, Max’s urgent energy
vanished. His muscles, no longer tight and hard, crumpled into a limp mass. Yet, the pounding
in his head jumped to double-time. He had to get out of there. He didn’t know why, he just
had to do it. Right then. Aiming for the door, Max staggered as the room tilted then
straightened.
Gerald gripped his elbow. “You’re looking a little pale. Sure I can’t get you something?”
Max shook his head, unable to answer.
A young woman in a form-fitting suit pushed through the door and smiled. “Mr. Humminger,
the confirmation just came back. I’ll have the hard copy in just a moment.”
“Thanks, Bonnie dear,” Gerald said. His eyes lingered on her shapely form, and she glared at
him as she backed from the room and slammed the door.
The pounding, the ringing, the nausea, all of it closed in on Max. He lunged for the door and
reeled through it.
“Wait! You don’t have your papers!”
“I’ll... get them later.” Max rubbed his temple furiously. Without warning, he gagged, but only
saliva streamed from his mouth. Max pushed himself through the door and half ran and half
staggered toward the elevator.
Once inside, Max leaned against the wall and panted. Swirling images crept across his vision
distorting the light and the area around him. When the doors opened, he nearly fell into the
arms of a waiting woman. Instead, he caught himself and stumbled past, aiming erratically for
the outer doors and the bright light beyond. If only he could make it to the light.
The pounding and ringing intensified, shutting out all sound. In desperation to stop the pain, he
pushed his palm against his ear then pulled it away and stared at it. It was warm and sticky,
dripping with bright red blood. Max stumbled forward. He didn’t hear shouts behind him, nor
car horns blaring before him. Instead, he searched for the light. He pushed his feet faster,
desperate to find the light.
When Max finally found his light, he didn’t see the car to his left. He couldn’t feel the
crunching and cracking of his bones, the scraping and tearing of his flesh. His world wobbled
and spun, dragging him with it. By the time he hit the pavement, his world was black. The
ringing stopped, and the pounding slowed, thump... thump...... thump............
thump____________________________________________
The newscaster’s professionally bleached teeth filled the television screen.
“In downtown Houston today, multimillionaire, former Federal Prison inmate and alleged
Mafia kingpin, Milo Dolnia was the victim of a tragic accident. Eye witness accounts vary,
some saying Dolnia was holding his head, blood running through his fingers prior to staggering
into the path of a speeding car in the one hundred block of Louisiana Street. Others could not
confirm his injury, but saw his erratic movement prior to running in front of the oncoming
vehicle. Dolnia did not respond to shouts or car horns. No charges have been filed at this
time, however, an investigation continues. Dolnia was the focus of a recent controversy after
being released from Bastrop Federal prison after serving only a small fraction of his sentence
for tax evasion and fraud. He...”
The petite, flame-haired woman hit the “off” button on the remote and threw it on her desk.
Hands on her hips as if she were a steel-plated super hero, she whirled about to face the man
entering her office. Despite the white lab jacket covering a starched shirt and silk tie, he
looked more like a World Wide Federation of Wrestling star than the genius he was, as tested
on the Wieschler Scale.
“Did you see that?” The woman’s voice rose. “They won’t leave it alone, will they? They’ll
do their investigation until their brains freeze over. Why can’t they believe it was an accident
and leave it at that?”
“What’re you worried about, Cherie? Even with an autopsy all they’ll find, besides broken
bones and contusions, is a subdural hematoma, some ruptured capillaries. They’ll assume that
was what caused him to run blindly in the street. Believe me they’ll never know the truth.”
“I hope you’re right, Charles.”
“Why do you doubt me? Do you not believe me when I tell you of our progress, of our
achievements? We have attained the unthinkable, things so unbelievable that if one did not
witness them personally, they would never believe. Yet, you have seen it all, first hand.”
Cherie’s lips curled into a self-satisfied grin as she rubbed her hand along his thick arm. “Oh,
I know, Charles! It’s just sometimes I get scared. We’ve worked for so long on this, put so
much into it, that to consider any setback now when we’re so close, well it just curdles my
stomach! You’re right; we’re almost there. I mean, Milo authorized that transfer of twenty
million, not even a question asked! Think of the implications!” A low, guttural laugh rose from
her throat.
“Implications?” Charles shook his head. “What it means is we still haven’t solved our
problem. We still don’t know why they fall over at the same point.”
“So who cares if they fall over? At least we can get them to do our bidding first.” She licked
her lips. “Charles, consider the potential. We’ve stumbled onto something that could be even
more productive than your silly little cures. Why not use it?”
“Silly little cures?” His voice was cold. “I thought what mattered most was not to make them
our puppets, but to perfect the miracles, to give them hope. Isn’t that what we’re all waiting
for, hope?”
Cherie rubbed her chin. “I suppose you can have your hope. Pity, though. We’ve proven the
potential, and it’s so great. It would be a shame to waste it.”
“Wasted or not, what we desperately need is fresh blood. Somewhere there is a person
holding the right DNA key, the right genetic blueprint to give us what we’re missing. We find
that and we find complete success. We can give them our miracles and keep them alive.”
“Charles, you will find your success. I know you will. In the mean time, we can have some
fun, can’t we?” Cherie smiled her trademark Cheshire grin as she kneaded his tight shoulder
muscles through the cloth of his lab jacket. “Yes, Charles, we’ll have our fun, and you’ll solve
your problems. You’ll get what you need, and you’ll be happy. I will be too, for you will have
given me what I’ve searched for, what we’ve searched for all these years. I’m banking the
reputation of our entire project on your promises, and you know to whom I answer.” Her
eyes burned as if ready to spill molten lava as he turned to face her.
Charles’s smile vaporized in the heat of her glare. He nodded and said quietly, “I’m well
aware of the power behind you, behind us. But, I can’t produce your miracles, or your
puppets, without help.” Spinning sharply on his heel, he hurried from the office. The door
slammed behind him.
Cherie crossed her arms and stared blankly at the door. Slowly, a new smile spread across
her face. “Good,” she said, no one to hear her. “Glad you understand.”
Plopping into her swivel chair, she kicked her feet out, and with a soft “whee” spun it once
before pulling to her desk. Picking up the phone, she punched in some numbers. “Now, for
that little matter of genetic variety.”
Infernal stoplight. Could it take any longer to change? A restless, churning energy brewed
inside Max Duncan. He standing still was impossible. He shifted from foot to foot and uttered
obscenities as he glared at the crowd pressing against him. Cars swept past, slinging stifling,
muggy, Houston air in his face. “I don’t have time for this,” he mumbled. Some nearby
frowned.
The signal finally changed and Max raced across the scorching pavement, heat radiating from
it like an oven; hot enough to melt wax. He stopped in front of the bank. His reflection stared
at him from the tinted glass windows. With a stubby forefinger, he dabbed at a smudge on his
forehead. Lately, it was as if the years were melting away, like a River Birch’s curling bark
peeling away to reveal the pristine white trunk beneath. If it weren’t for that hideous tag of
skin growing under his jaw, he could be on the next cover of People’s “Sexiest Men Alive”
issue. But that tag. It had only appeared recently. It was just a flap of extra skin, ridged like a
gill, but with no color. He shrugged. Youth and energy, the two greatest forces in life, they
were all that mattered. Lately, he seemed to have a lot of each. And though he didn’t
understand why he’d been blessed with such gifts, he never questioned the generosity of any
giver.
Max glided through the brass-trimmed doors of the old bank and into the marble-floored,
cavernous lobby. He sniffed. Despite artificially cooled air, he could smell it, money, old
money. It was like slipping into a favorite pair of jeans, comfortable, comforting. Odd, he
didn’t remember being around it before.
At the teller’s window, Max pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, glanced at it and then
said, “Uh, a Mr. Gerald Humminger, please.”
“May I tell him who wishes to see him?”
“Yes,” Max said, as he patted his tie. “Tell him Max Duncan is here.”
Soon a tall gentleman in the dark, cut-to-perfection uniform of the business world
approached and extended his bony hand.
“So, it's Max now, is it?” Gerald Humminger grinned. “What a pleasant surprise! I certainly
didn’t expect to see you again, at least not so soon.” He gripped Max’s elbow and spoke
close to his ear. “But, I must say, you’re looking better than ever- at least ten years younger.
You must tell me about this youth potion you’ve obviously discovered!”
Max’s fat fingers encircled the man’s bony ones as they shook hands, but Max’s brows
knitted into a frown. Who was this guy?
Moments later, seated in a leather chair in Humminger’s office, Max studied the man. How
could Mr. Humminger be surprised to see him again? He had never met the lanky banker
before. As the thought traversed the cranial paths of Max’s mind, a small chisel started
hammering inside his skull. The throbbing was moderate, just enough to make Max grimace.
He pushed the heel of his hand against his forehead.
“Are you all right?” Gerald leaned forward and squinted. Max nodded. “Want some ice
water, perhaps, something stronger?”
Max shook his head. “No... thanks.”
“Well then, what brings you here today? Last I knew, you were in some federal prison. It
seems I heard something about an inmate stabbing you.” Humminger giggled. “I believe it was
with a fork! Even heard you didn’t make it. But, looks like not only you resurrected yourself,
new name and all, but you shaved a few years off while you were at it. If it wasn’t some magic
youth potion, then it must’ve been one incredible plastic surgeon!”
Max stared at Gerald, his expression blank. Gerald’s smile faded. “Look, we’re old buddies.
I’ve held your hand through the worst of them. This room is safe. You can tell old Gerald
what’s really going on.”
“Going on? Nothing’s going on. I’m fine, far as I know.” Max shifted in his seat and pulled a
handkerchief from his pocket and swiped it across his forehead. “Look, I need to make a
transfer. I’ve got to split twenty million between three accounts. One’s in the Grand Caymans.
The others are in Switzerland.”
“Twenty million? You have that much left? I thought our ‘I-feel-your-pain’ Uncle took all
your possessions. IRS and all.”
All his possessions? He was simply transferring money on behalf of his new employer.
“It’s not mine,” Max said as he pushed a sealed envelope across the polished desk. “It’s my
employer’s. The authorization’s there,” he added, pointing at the envelope.
“New employer, huh? You not only flirted with death, cheated and won; you’re also not
wasting any time getting new work, are you?” Gerald tore open the envelope and quickly read
the single sheet inside. “Says here this is your money, and you want it split between three
accounts opened nearly five years ago.” Gerald dropped the sheet and stared at Max. “Want
to tell me the real truth? What’s going on, Milo?”
“Milo?” Max frowned. “I tell you, nothing’s going on. Never in my life have I had money like
that!” The chisel in his skull morphed to a jackhammer.
“Milo, Max, whatever. You’ve never had that little money in your life. You’re used to
handling many times more than a paltry sum of twenty million. You controlled accounts the
world over. The Grand Caymans was just play money. That’s why you can’t remember!”
Gerald grinned as he patted Max’s shaking hand. “Sure, it must be hard giving up what you
had. Looks like you’re on your way back, though. Pull a few wise investments and in no time
you’ll have all you had before, plus some.”
Max tried to swallow, but so much saliva had accumulated, it threatened to overflow and
dribble down his chin. Without warning, a wave of nausea slammed into him, sending a sweat
river down his cheeks. Somehow, he managed a smile as he nodded at Gerald.
“Very well.” Gerald stood. “You must sign the proper forms and all that. You know the
routine.” He rounded the desk and started for the door. “Sit back and relax. My secretary will
take care of everything.” The door shut behind him.
Max tried to stop shaking but couldn’t. Ringing echoed in his ears. A frantic urgency pushed
and pulled at his insides. He started pacing. It felt as if he would die if he stopped moving.
Back and forth in front of the wall of windows, he paced. On the street below, traffic and
pedestrians flowed. Heat shimmered off the pavement. Max stared at them and wondered
why he envied them.
Soon, Gerald breezed through the door, a small stack of documents in hand.
Max pointed at the papers. “Where do I sign?”
“Here and here, and wherever you see yellow highlighting.” Gerald pointed at the various
blanks. “These forms authorize this bank to move the money you requested to the accounts
you specified. Soon as they’re signed, we’ll enter the instructions and wait for confirmation. It
shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
The signing completed, Max shoved the papers back to Gerald who then took them to
someone waiting outside the door. As suddenly as it had come over him, Max’s urgent energy
vanished. His muscles, no longer tight and hard, crumpled into a limp mass. Yet, the pounding
in his head jumped to double-time. He had to get out of there. He didn’t know why, he just
had to do it. Right then. Aiming for the door, Max staggered as the room tilted then
straightened.
Gerald gripped his elbow. “You’re looking a little pale. Sure I can’t get you something?”
Max shook his head, unable to answer.
A young woman in a form-fitting suit pushed through the door and smiled. “Mr. Humminger,
the confirmation just came back. I’ll have the hard copy in just a moment.”
“Thanks, Bonnie dear,” Gerald said. His eyes lingered on her shapely form, and she glared at
him as she backed from the room and slammed the door.
The pounding, the ringing, the nausea, all of it closed in on Max. He lunged for the door and
reeled through it.
“Wait! You don’t have your papers!”
“I’ll... get them later.” Max rubbed his temple furiously. Without warning, he gagged, but only
saliva streamed from his mouth. Max pushed himself through the door and half ran and half
staggered toward the elevator.
Once inside, Max leaned against the wall and panted. Swirling images crept across his vision
distorting the light and the area around him. When the doors opened, he nearly fell into the
arms of a waiting woman. Instead, he caught himself and stumbled past, aiming erratically for
the outer doors and the bright light beyond. If only he could make it to the light.
The pounding and ringing intensified, shutting out all sound. In desperation to stop the pain, he
pushed his palm against his ear then pulled it away and stared at it. It was warm and sticky,
dripping with bright red blood. Max stumbled forward. He didn’t hear shouts behind him, nor
car horns blaring before him. Instead, he searched for the light. He pushed his feet faster,
desperate to find the light.
When Max finally found his light, he didn’t see the car to his left. He couldn’t feel the
crunching and cracking of his bones, the scraping and tearing of his flesh. His world wobbled
and spun, dragging him with it. By the time he hit the pavement, his world was black. The
ringing stopped, and the pounding slowed, thump... thump...... thump............
thump____________________________________________
The newscaster’s professionally bleached teeth filled the television screen.
“In downtown Houston today, multimillionaire, former Federal Prison inmate and alleged
Mafia kingpin, Milo Dolnia was the victim of a tragic accident. Eye witness accounts vary,
some saying Dolnia was holding his head, blood running through his fingers prior to staggering
into the path of a speeding car in the one hundred block of Louisiana Street. Others could not
confirm his injury, but saw his erratic movement prior to running in front of the oncoming
vehicle. Dolnia did not respond to shouts or car horns. No charges have been filed at this
time, however, an investigation continues. Dolnia was the focus of a recent controversy after
being released from Bastrop Federal prison after serving only a small fraction of his sentence
for tax evasion and fraud. He...”
The petite, flame-haired woman hit the “off” button on the remote and threw it on her desk.
Hands on her hips as if she were a steel-plated super hero, she whirled about to face the man
entering her office. Despite the white lab jacket covering a starched shirt and silk tie, he
looked more like a World Wide Federation of Wrestling star than the genius he was, as tested
on the Wieschler Scale.
“Did you see that?” The woman’s voice rose. “They won’t leave it alone, will they? They’ll
do their investigation until their brains freeze over. Why can’t they believe it was an accident
and leave it at that?”
“What’re you worried about, Cherie? Even with an autopsy all they’ll find, besides broken
bones and contusions, is a subdural hematoma, some ruptured capillaries. They’ll assume that
was what caused him to run blindly in the street. Believe me they’ll never know the truth.”
“I hope you’re right, Charles.”
“Why do you doubt me? Do you not believe me when I tell you of our progress, of our
achievements? We have attained the unthinkable, things so unbelievable that if one did not
witness them personally, they would never believe. Yet, you have seen it all, first hand.”
Cherie’s lips curled into a self-satisfied grin as she rubbed her hand along his thick arm. “Oh,
I know, Charles! It’s just sometimes I get scared. We’ve worked for so long on this, put so
much into it, that to consider any setback now when we’re so close, well it just curdles my
stomach! You’re right; we’re almost there. I mean, Milo authorized that transfer of twenty
million, not even a question asked! Think of the implications!” A low, guttural laugh rose from
her throat.
“Implications?” Charles shook his head. “What it means is we still haven’t solved our
problem. We still don’t know why they fall over at the same point.”
“So who cares if they fall over? At least we can get them to do our bidding first.” She licked
her lips. “Charles, consider the potential. We’ve stumbled onto something that could be even
more productive than your silly little cures. Why not use it?”
“Silly little cures?” His voice was cold. “I thought what mattered most was not to make them
our puppets, but to perfect the miracles, to give them hope. Isn’t that what we’re all waiting
for, hope?”
Cherie rubbed her chin. “I suppose you can have your hope. Pity, though. We’ve proven the
potential, and it’s so great. It would be a shame to waste it.”
“Wasted or not, what we desperately need is fresh blood. Somewhere there is a person
holding the right DNA key, the right genetic blueprint to give us what we’re missing. We find
that and we find complete success. We can give them our miracles and keep them alive.”
“Charles, you will find your success. I know you will. In the mean time, we can have some
fun, can’t we?” Cherie smiled her trademark Cheshire grin as she kneaded his tight shoulder
muscles through the cloth of his lab jacket. “Yes, Charles, we’ll have our fun, and you’ll solve
your problems. You’ll get what you need, and you’ll be happy. I will be too, for you will have
given me what I’ve searched for, what we’ve searched for all these years. I’m banking the
reputation of our entire project on your promises, and you know to whom I answer.” Her
eyes burned as if ready to spill molten lava as he turned to face her.
Charles’s smile vaporized in the heat of her glare. He nodded and said quietly, “I’m well
aware of the power behind you, behind us. But, I can’t produce your miracles, or your
puppets, without help.” Spinning sharply on his heel, he hurried from the office. The door
slammed behind him.
Cherie crossed her arms and stared blankly at the door. Slowly, a new smile spread across
her face. “Good,” she said, no one to hear her. “Glad you understand.”
Plopping into her swivel chair, she kicked her feet out, and with a soft “whee” spun it once
before pulling to her desk. Picking up the phone, she punched in some numbers. “Now, for
that little matter of genetic variety.”
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Sun and Sand Communications