The Projection Room: Our Brother’S Keeper

By Carol Golembiewski

Bruce Mallory, a valuable scientist and engineer, wants nothing more than to get on with his life and leave the horrors and tragedies of the last two projection room incarnations behind him. But when he is recruited to a secret military installation in Wyoming to develop a new device, the enigmatic Agent Baker darkens his door once more. Soon after, Bruce begins suffering from a bizarre and potentially fatal condition that raises many questions, especially for his wife, Noelle.

As Bruce does his best to recover from his mysterious ailment, he must contend with the cold-blooded, nefarious Dr. Casper Layton, who has constructed Bruces latest version of the projection room with a unique interface. Also in his way is his estranged brother and acoustic expert, Aaron Mallory. If that is not enough, Bruce must also face nightmares from his past military service and determine who he can trust as he races to protect his wife, family, and his sanity, all while attempting to decipher the perplexing images revealed within the walls of the projection room.

In this continuing sci-fi thriller, a scientist must battle to survive after he is yet again conscripted into service by an evil genius on a quest for forbidden knowledge and technology.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Nov 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781458219541

Carol Golembiewski

Carol Golembiewski was born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, earned a degree in Art Education from Mount Mary University, and taught in both Wisconsin and Florida. Currently, she is a high school art teacher with a background in computer graphics, photography, ceramics, painting/drawing, and art history. Carol resides in Wisconsin. This is the fourth book in a series.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 Carol Golembiewski.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Abbott Press

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.abbottpress.com

Phone: [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4582-1952-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-1953-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-1954-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015916349

Abbott Press rev. date: 11/24/2015

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 1

IN THE REMOTE BIG SKY country of Wyoming, away from the prying eyes and minds of conspiracy theorists everywhere, sat a mid-sized research lab nestled between the remote hills. Only a few knew or suspected its presence, but they'd have to know it was there to find it. To stumble upon it accidentally was even less likely. The roads leading to it were enough to doom even the most clever Grecian youth trying to evade a hungry Minotaur; however, the caravan of black-windowed SUVs and trucks moved along purposefully on the intentionally unpaved roads. The lead vehicle's driver knew exactly where to go with the grim deliveries.

Behind the tinted windows, which filtered out the mid-day sun, the driver was solemn and gravely silent. It was clear he was growing annoyed with his passenger. He wondered to himself if he was as irritating when he was that young, but he dismissed the question. It was a long day and saying something would likely make it even longer. He answered any query with 'yes,' 'no' or clipped answers, even to himself these days.

What do you think they want with these bodies?

Don't know. Don't want to know; don't care, answered the driver.

The young soldier riding shotgun continued, ignoring the driver's brief comments. He continued in a hushed tone, I'm just saying that the military shipping cryogenic containers without going through proper channels is ...

Ours is not to question why; ours is just to do or die. Just be grateful they're sealed cryogenically because the smell would be wretched. He hoped that last comment would shut him up. It did.

The driver continued, And I'm going to give you this advice just once. Don't discuss this with anyone---ever. He looked over to the man riding shotgun with an expression as serious as a heart attack. From what I understand, the bodies will be delivered to their families, but not before ...

Before?

Before they do what they're going to do with them. That's all I know. He paused and looked at the other man intently. He whispered, Listen, I mean it. I know you were briefed about this. We were given only the information we need to know, but you need to shut up and never mention this if you know what's good for you. That can't be stressed enough. Got it?

The other soldier was startled. Those were the most words strung together in a row the driver had uttered to him since they met, and they conveyed an ominous nature and tone.

The other man finally heeded the warning. I got it. He shook his head affirmatively and didn't say another word the rest of the way.

As they rounded the last incline, the horizon revealed their destination in the distance. It was an isolated military/science installation. They passed through the gates and after driving a while longer, finally stopped at the loading dock at the back end of the buildings. The other man got out, grateful to be able to stretch his legs. The dry, open air was a welcomed change. Men came out of the installation as if on cue and assisted in opening up the SUV and trucks in the caravan. Men, some in uniforms, others in lab coats, came out of the building. There was hushed bustling about and then a silence as they waited for some further order.

A lanky and gray-haired older man in a lab coat came out, wordlessly signaled and said, Let's go.

The other soldiers took their cues from him. The two in the SUV followed in the procession, got out and helped with the unloading of the other trucks in the solemn procession behind them.

The soldiers rolled the cryogenic caskets quietly into the lab of the complex as a rare, hot, late summer wind blasted past them. They delivered the frozen payload into a large cavernous hall with connecting hallways. Most of the soldiers filed out of the building, walking past the large domed room seated on top of a platform. As they walked by the dome, they could see the gray, interlocking hexagonal tiles of its surface.

It looked deceptively fragile, as if the strong hot wind from outside could make it fall like a delicately constructed house of cards.

A crew of lab technicians joined the older man in charge, Dr. Casper Layton, as he looked over the containers with thinly veiled enthusiasm. He hoped this would be the start, the threshold to the next step of man's evolution, and he would be in the forefront of it all.

While he was a striking man, one would be hard-pressed to call him handsome. Casper could only be described as an angular, long, distinguished-looking man with a thick shock of gray hair. He allowed himself to smile broadly with his thin lips when the last soldier was finally out the door.

Upon his signal, his technicians and assistants opened the first casket, and then the next. The frigid air and mist cascaded out before dispersing. When the air cleared, the caskets revealed the frozen and preserved bodies of numerous troops who had fallen in battle. Standing next to Layton was Dr. Walter Abbott. Both men watched in silence as the technicians gathered their tools so they could start to harvest the genetic material from the bodies.

Sometimes Walter Abbott had the countenance and manner of a tenacious little bulldog. But when he put on his thick black-rimmed glasses, he looked like a startled owl. Both impressions fit him depending on the circumstances.

He looked a few years older than Layton and was about average height, but his thick build tended to make him seem shorter. He had short graying hair and a widow's peak with a pronounced cowlick. As he gazed at the opened caskets, a deep internal conflict caused him to furrow his brow.

Dr. Layton looked over at him, more curious than concerned. Some of the emotions and impulses of others were beyond his comprehension and experience. They both fascinated and frustrated him at times. What Walter Abbott seemed to be feeling was beyond him. He was more curious than concerned about the emotions his colleague seemed to be experiencing at the moment. However, he realized voicing concern would be expected of him. What seems to be the problem, Walter?

Dr. Abbott turned his head in Layton's direction, but didn't meet his gaze. It seems wrong, Casper. They died for their country. They should be laid to rest.

And they will be, Walter, after this one last service to science, their nation and their species.

It seems wrong, as if we are desecrating these boys further, Abbott muttered to himself.

Casper Layton was no longer curious, but now found himself impatient with what he considered Abbott's blatant emotionalism. Walter, you have this aptitude for sentimentality. If I were a woman, I'd almost find it endearing. They are dead, and what we have here is the inanimate materials that once housed their consciousness, nothing more.

Walter Abbott looked over to Layton momentarily, but quickly looked back at the bodies. Layton moved closer to him, speaking quietly. What we're doing here has such large-scale implications. We simply can't indulge these ideas and feelings ... or any other antiquated notions from getting in the way of progress.

I suppose you're right.

Dr. Abbott reluctantly nodded approval to the waiting lab assistants, but they were really waiting for Dr. Layton's specific directions.

We'll need the skulls opened up. He looked up at the ceiling and spoke to no one but himself now, Let's see what these men had under the hood.

Walter Abbott walked away. Casper Layton found himself staring at the waiting dome, the latest incarnation of the projection room in the distance. He contemplated all the possibilities it possessed.

Chapter 2

LOOKING DISHEVELED, BRUCE MINDLESSLY MEANDERED into the kitchen in silence. He was in work mode but in need of a diversion so he could approach work with new eyes. He was fixated on a new idea and problem, but he needed to put himself in neutral, if only for few hours or days. His bare feet shuffled toward the refrigerator. Opening the door, he stared blankly at the shelves, hoping to be inspired.

His mind often caused him to withdraw from the rest of his world for days at a time. He'd occasionally come up for air to eat and grunt at Noelle and Chloe. Sometimes he'd even talk on these days. He stood in front of the open refrigerator door in an almost meditative trance as he stared at the choices before him and scratched himself across his chest and forearm. The scratching seemed to further aid his thought process.

Noelle walked in with little Chloe in tow, and she looked over at him as she put a paperback novel on the kitchen table. Honey, what do you want? A sandwich?? Cuz I was going to fix Chloe a tuna melt anyway.

His concentration broke, Yeah. Hey, a tuna melt sounds good. Do you have chips too?

Noelle smiled, and playfully bumped him out of the way with her hip. I think so. Get out of the way. Go on, go sit down. She gathered items from the open refrigerator as he took Chloe to the kitchen table.

Without a thought, he picked her up and put her into the seat next to his. He got her a juice box, along with two coffee mugs. He poured himself and Noelle a steaming cup from the coffee maker. He still drank out of the mug with the image of Edvard Munch's 'The Scream' on it. Then he parked himself next to the child, and together they passively waited for their sandwiches to appear before them on the table.

Noelle looked over and had to chuckle to herself at the childlike qualities in both of them. The man had a genius IQ, and yet he so often exhibited a childlike and playful nature that didn't seem incongruent with his brilliance.

What? What's so funny? asked Bruce. He frowned and looked at the paperback novel titled, 'Steed's Obsession,' on the table before picking it up and reading the page where she placed her bookmark.

Nothing.

And it was moments like this, just watching Noelle contented and joyfully going about her day that warmed Bruce's heart. She hummed to herself as she grilled their sandwiches. He thought she was beautiful the moment he laid eyes on her, but she never seemed so attractive to him as when she glided about with a slight smile, humming some unknown song, flipping tuna melts or scrambled eggs, or speaking tenderly to little Chloe as she read her a story.

She slid the plate in front of him and started her final descent into her chair as he looked down questioningly at his plate. What? No pickle?

Noelle sighed, springing back up out of the chair. Silently she went into the refrigerator and pulled a pickle spear from the jar. She walked back over and unceremoniously dropped it on the plate in front of him. With her hands on her hips she asked the rhetorical question. Anything else before I sit down, your highness?

Bruce looked down at the pickle almost disapprovingly. No, I'm good.

Noelle smiled to herself. Sometimes she just enjoyed playfully giving Bruce a hard time, and he knew it. He played along, knowing it was more affectionate teasing than disrespect or anger. Truth was she loved how he seemed so genuinely happy sometimes to find a plate of food materialize in front of him, even if it was just a tuna melt with chips. Because he had been a widower for almost a decade before they met and married, she suspected he appreciated the little niceties she brought into their union, even if it was just the tuna melts or scrambled eggs at eleven in the morning.

It was these quiet little moments of belonging together that Bruce loved. Because of moments like this, he loved her and his stepdaughter all the more. It was times like these that caused him to know without hesitation that he'd kill anyone who hurt Noelle and Chloe. He'd kill anyone who dared to destroy the life he now had. Those thoughts disturbed him when they bubbled up from the recesses of his mind. He pushed and willed them back down. He hoped he'd never have to confront such a situation---ever.

Bruce munched and read from her paperback for a while before speaking. He pointed to the page he was reading, "I can't believe you read this crap.

Crap? That's a national bestseller.

You know it is physically impossible to copulate in this manner, he responded.

Bruce, are we going to discuss such things in front of ... She pointed to little Chloe.

She's two and a half, so I think it'll be little while before she figures out what 'copulate' means, he answered.

Noelle looked over to see what part of her book he was referencing. He continued, This Steed guy would need three elbows to balance himself. He pointed out one paragraph and then another on the same page. I'm an engineer with a doctorate; I know these things.

Prove it, she muttered in mock defiance.

Let's see. If I am able to perform this act as described in this book, then I'm proven wrong as an engineer. If I'm proven right and I'm unable to perform the act and very likely injure myself in the process then it seems like a lose-lose situation for me.

But if you're able to accomplish what that books says, traveling minstrels might one day write songs touting your prowess. Noelle looked up at the kitchen clock and continued flirtatiously. Chloe goes down for her nap in an hour.

Is that a challenge, Mrs. Mallory?

It is, Mr. Mallory.

He chuckled, and bit into his tuna melt.

Chapter 3

SHE CAME OUT OF THE master bathroom and started to undress. Bruce watched her go through her little routine as she silently headed toward the bed.

He laid in bed, scratched his bare chest and chuckled as he turned his attention to the book in his hands, 'Steed's Obsession.' I still can't believe you read this crap. I married a woman who reads schmaltzy mommy porn.

It came highly recommended by my sister. Noelle slipped under the comforter and noticed him smiling slightly, watching her.

She looked puzzled, but leaned over and kissed him before asking, What? You've had this deep contemplative look on your face all day. What is bumping around in that big noggin of yours, Mr. Mallory?

He chuckled, I mentioned another possibility with the tiles to Baker, something we can derive from the projection room tiles. So, now his people have asked me to develop a new device.

Noelle sat up and looked at him. Well, this is the first I'm hearing about this. You talked to Baker recently?

He nodded.

That's cool, but most people talk about the weather, how their day went, or what's on the docket for the rest of the week.

Ah---small talk. Is that what you'd prefer to talk about? Because I'm working on a wearable cloaking device, he interjected.

No, let's have this conversation. So, what's new? What've you been thinking?

I love you?

You're not sure?

No, I'm sure, he paused a moment and then continued. I was thinking while you were frying up tuna melts how the most important thing a man can do is protect what he loves. If he can't do that---what use is he?

Noelle looked puzzled. So I'm helpless and borderline incompetent, and you need to protect me from everything? Is that what you're saying?

Bruce looked back at her nonplussed. No, actually, I'm saying your tuna melts are that good.

Ha! Funny.

Just kidding, your tuna melts are just okay. But seriously, that's NOT what I said. Are we going to get into an argument about this? Because it seems like ...

No, but that's what you've implied. So, you married me because you wanted to take care of me. I'm somehow not able to take care of myself?

Bruce rolled his eyes, frustrated that what he intended as an endearment, a profession of love and a statement of how he felt was being twisted. No. That's not what I meant. It means that when a man loves a woman, his impulse, for good or bad, is to protect and care for her.

Right. Because he sees her as lacking the competency to protect and care for herself.

He threw his hands heavenward. In equal frustration, he then tossed himself backward into the pillow and sighed. I give up. It's like we're speaking almost the same language, but a vastly different dialect sometimes.

Noelle went to the window and pulled the blinds shut. Bruce looked over at her in the darkened room. He could see her grinning. You're messing with me, aren't you, Noelle?

Her grin developed into a sly little smirk, Yeah---sort of.

Why?

She put her head down close to his on the pillow. It's kinda fun.

Noelle kissed him on the lips. His eyes narrowed, but he smiled at her still. Are you flirting with me? Because frankly, you ruined the moment for me now. I don't think I'm in the mood for this experiment. All I can think about now is your dubious choices in reading material. He lifted the paperback novel.

She laughed at his statement and responded playfully, Messing with you? Yeah, maybe. But I still disagree with you.

Well, you're going to have to work to capture the moment again. I'm not that easy; you're going to have to woo me now.

Woo you? Yeah right! She rolled away from him and chuckled. He rolled toward her and started to kiss her neck as she laughed. Oh, I thought I was going to have to woo you? she asked.

I thought I'd cut you some slack just this once.

She started to laugh louder. Really? A wearable cloaking device? I thought I saw somewhere on the internet that they already have something like it.

They do, but it's too unwieldy, impractical and draws too much power. We going to try this?

Page thirty-four.

43038a.png

Time passed and there was a loud thump. Bruce cried out in pain as he lay prone on the floor. Concerned, Noelle looked over the edge of the bed at the floor.

Well, aside from the awkward dismount, that was impressive. You okay?

He gasped for breath between spasms of pain. "My back. I'm seeing little stars and ringing in my ears. See! I told