| 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 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. A few nearby frowned at his tone.
When the signal finally changed, Max raced across the scorching pavement. Heat radiating from it like an oven; hot
enough to melt wax. In front of the bank windows, he stopped. His reflection stared at him from the tinted glass. 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.
“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 was shaking like a leaf in storm and he couldn’t stop. Ringing echoed in his ears. A frantic urgency pushed and
pulled at his insides. He got up and started pacing. Back and forth in front of the wall of windows, he paced. It felt as if he
would die if he stopped moving. 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, a tragic accident took the life of multimillionaire, former Federal Prison inmate and alleged
Mafia kingpin, Milo Dolnia. 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 on 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 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. A few nearby frowned at his tone.
When the signal finally changed, Max raced across the scorching pavement. Heat radiating from it like an oven; hot
enough to melt wax. In front of the bank windows, he stopped. His reflection stared at him from the tinted glass. 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.
“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 was shaking like a leaf in storm and he couldn’t stop. Ringing echoed in his ears. A frantic urgency pushed and
pulled at his insides. He got up and started pacing. Back and forth in front of the wall of windows, he paced. It felt as if he
would die if he stopped moving. 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, a tragic accident took the life of multimillionaire, former Federal Prison inmate and alleged
Mafia kingpin, Milo Dolnia. 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 on 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