The Atlantis Gene (The Origin Mystery 1)

“Ah, you’ve gotten into some of the books. What did you choose?” she tips it toward me slightly, reads the title, and cocks her head slightly. “Hmm, Pride and Prejudice. One of my favorites.”

I close the book and toss it on the table as though she’d just told me it was infected with plague. “Yes, well, a man’s got to stay up on such things. And, appreciate the… Classics.”

The monocled man looks over at her impatiently. Ready to get on with the visiting — away from the cripple in the spare bedroom?

“Patrick, this is Damien Webster. He’s come from America to see you. He won’t tell me what about.” She raises her eyebrows conspiratorially.

“Pleasure, Mr. Pierce. I knew your father.”

He’s not courting her. Wait, knew my father.

Webster seems to realize my confusion. “We sent a telegraph to the hospital. Have you not received it?”

My father is dead, but he didn’t come here about that. What then?

Helena speaks before I can. “Major Pierce has been here for a month. The hospital receives a great many cables each day. What’s your business, Mr. Webster?” Her tone has grown serious.

Webster glares at her. He’s probably not used to a woman talking to him in such a tone. He could probably do with more of it. “Several matters. The first being your father’s estate—”

Outside the window, a bird lands on the fountain. It fidgets, dunks it’s head, rises and shakes the water off.

“How did he die?” I say, still focused on the bird.

Webster speaks quickly, like it’s something to get out of the way, an annoyance. “Automobile accident. He and your mother both perished instantly. Dangerous machines, I say. It was quick. They didn’t suffer, I assure you. Now…”

I feel hurt of a different kind, a crushing feeling of loneliness, emptiness, like there’s a pit inside me that I can’t fill. Like I’ll never be happy again. My mother, gone. Buried by now. I’ll never see her again.

“Will that be acceptable, Mr. Pierce?”

“What?”

“The account at First National Bank in Charleston. Your father was a very frugal man. There’s almost 200,000 dollars in the account.”

Frugal to a fault.

Webster is clearly frustrated and plows on hoping for a response. “The account’s in your name. There was no will, but as you’ve no siblings, there’s no problem.” He waits another moment. “We can transfer the money to a bank here on the continent.” He glances at Helena. “Or England if you prefer—”

“The West Virginia Children’s Home. It’s in Elkins. See that they get the balance of the account. And that they know that it came from my father.”

“Uh, yes, that’s… possible. May I ask why?”

A truthful response would be “because he wouldn’t want me to have it” or more exactly, “because he didn’t like the man I’ve become.” But I don’t say either, maybe because Helena is in the room or maybe because I don’t think this shyster deserves an honest response. Instead, I mumble something approximating, “It’s what he would have wanted.”

He looks at my leg, searching for the right words. “That’s all well and good, but the army pensions are… rather sparse, even for a Major. I would think you’d be keen to keep a bit of the money, say 100,000 dollars?”

I stare at him full on now. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re here about. I doubt it’s my father’s 200,000 estate.”

He’s taken aback. “Of course, Mr. Pierce. I was only trying to advise… for your best interests. Indeed, that’s what I’m here about. I bring a message from Henry Drury Hatfield, Governor of the Great State of West Virginia. His Excellency wishes you to, well first off, he sends his deepest condolences for your loss, indeed the State’s and our Great Nation’s. Additionally, he would like for you to know that he is prepared to appoint you to your father’s seat in the US Senate, as this authority has just been vested in him by the state legislature.”

I’m beginning to realize how the McCoys could hate these snakes so much. Henry Hatfield is the nephew of Devil Hatfield, the leader of the infamous Hatfield Clan. The governor can’t run for a second term. He had himself set up for that US Senate seat two years ago, but the states ratified the Seventeenth Amendment the year before, allowing for direct election of US Senators, yanking the power away from the corrupt state legislatures and manipulators like Hatfield. My father was in the first class of US Senators elected by the people. His death, and the talk of the money now make more sense. But not the appointment.

Webster doesn’t let the mystery linger long. He leans against the foot of the bed, speaking like we’re old pals now. “Of course your status as a war hero will make you a popular choice. There will be a special election. As you know, Senators are now elected by the people,” he nods, “as they should be. The governor is ready to appoint you to serve in your father’s seat on the condition that you will endorse him in the special election and campaign for him. In return, he is willing to further support your career. Perhaps as a congressional candidate. Congressman Patrick Pierce has a nice ring to it, I think.” He pushes off the bed and smiles at me. “So, can I give the governor the good news then?”

I glower at him. I’ve never wanted to stand so much in my whole life, to be able to walk this demon to the front door and toss him out.

“I know the circumstances aren’t ideal, but we must all rise to the occasion.” Webster nods toward the leg. “And with your… limitations, it could be a good fit. You’re not likely to find better work—”

“Get out.”

“Now, Mr. Pierce, I know—”

“You heard me. And don’t come back. You’ve got the only answer you’re ever going to get. Tell that thug Hatfield to do his own dirty work, or maybe one of his cousins. I hear they’re good at it.”

He steps toward me, but Helena catches him by the arm. “This way, Mr. Webster.”

When he’s gone, she returns. “I’m very sorry about your parents.”

“As am I. My mother was very kind, and very loving.” I know she can see how sad I am now, but I can’t hold it any more.

“Can I bring you anything?” I can tell she didn’t mean to, but her eyes dart to where the bottle would sit beside the bed.