Sqerm: Volume I

By James Moore

Sage Weiss loses his mother in an unimaginable murder. After he returns home to investigate, he suffers a second heartbreak when his fiancée is murdered. While recovering from the horrific losses, he stumbles onto a theory that leads him to discover that some humans have genetic predispositions to be attracted to one another. These dispositions also create the reasons that we hate one another and even explain why some people kill.

Along with his brother, Parker, and Detective Johnson, Sage uncovers evidence that indicates that these circumstances develop based on conditions surrounding one’s conception. The trio must locate the origin of the phenomenon and the people responsible before they fall victim to the killers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781648012297

James Moore

James Moore is a professional writer who specializes in bringing to life forgotten aspects of history. His work has appeared in titles such as The Daily Express, Sunday Telegraph and The Daily Mirror and he is also the author and co-author of seven other books including Murder at the Inn: A History of Crime in Britain’s Pubs and Hotels, Pigeon-Guided Missiles: And 49 Other Ideas that Never Took Off; Ye Olde Good Inn Guide and History’s Narrowest Escapes. All have achieved widespread coverage in national and local media.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sage Weiss was a man whose life revolved around order and preparedness. Being unprepared or ill prepared did not sit well with him. Life had been hard for Sage as a boy and harder for him as a young man. The events of his life had honed him into the man that he had become: loyal, honest, and prepared. This night, Sage was preparing not for a specific event but for all occasions. He had learned through his time in the Marine Corps the motto semper fi or always faithful and did his best to stay true to that. Sage had adopted this motto and adjusted it to what he affectionately called semper paratus or always prepared.

Sage, a young athletic African American man in his early thirties, had just finished up a night jog. He knew the route—he had run it often. It helped him focus his thoughts—though usually during his run, he shifted to the right-brain mode of thinking and thought more than he concentrated on breathing or counting steps.

After his perfunctory three-mile journey on a humid night in Phoenix, Arizona, he returned to his house. He stood in his driveway and placed his hands on his head, fingers interlaced. The sweat on his hands worked as a lubricant, and he had to apply pressure to keep them from slipping apart. He did his best to expand his lungs to take in every bit of oxygen that he could. He was no stranger to exercise—but the Phoenix air was thick and full of humidity. After he had walked a few circles in his driveway, he approached his front door slowly and inserted a key.

Sage loved order. His house was not exceptionally well lit, and he had no need for the lights this evening. His space was clearly organized, nearly to a fault. He removed his shoes and socks. He tucked them neatly into a corner near where several other pairs of shoes belonged to a woman. The staging of the shoes subtly edified that order was a part of Sage’s life.

Sage surveyed his house; it was a modest house that was not flashy, but it was not the small abode that he lived in with his mother. Sage walked to the kitchen, gathered his trash and recycling, and exited a door through the kitchen. Sweat beaded slowly on his forehead, and he wiped his brow while holding the small container a bit too close to his face. The odor of the day’s refuse was not desirable, so he made haste to dispose of it.

As Sage opened the receptacles and began to dump the items, he was hit with a massive desire to scratch at his inner ear. He put his finger deep into his ear canal and wiggled it fervently. After a few seconds, he stopped and continued with the garbage detail. The odor of the massive green receptacle caused his nose just a bit of discomfort. He took a breath and held it, but the effects of the run were still with him. Holding his breath for an extended period was not going to happen. He closed the lids to the receptacles and returned inside. Once inside, he replaced the containers in their proper spots. He paused briefly as though remembering something. He went to the sink, flipped on the water, washed and dried his hands, and then headed toward his home office. Decorations in his house alluded to a lady’s touch. Currently, no lady is present in Sage’s home, but there was one at one time.

Now in his office, Sage clicked away on his computer. The run combined with hours of work had taken a toll on his energy; he began to fade. As sleep overtook him, a man appeared in Sage’s face. He was close enough that just his mere presence brought discomfort, and he yelled obscenities and cast aspersions. Occasionally, spittle flew out of his mouth and landed on Sage’s small arms. The man was Caucasian and in his forties with dark hair that is neatly trimmed. Though his stature was not abnormally large, he loomed over Sage in a fashion not dissimilar to a shadow of a monster in a tale meant to dissuade children from entering a forest alone. He wore the infamous A-shirt—a garment that Sage knew by the moniker wife beater shirt. But at this moment—yes, this moment—the uniform was a son beater shirt. The shirt was too small, and the striated cotton fibers were yellow under the foul man’s armpit. The man was beating a young Sage reasonably violently.

Young Sage used his arms and legs to crab walk backward until his back was against the corner of the kitchen cabinets. He had found a safe spot for the moment, or at least a sheltered spot in this familiar scenario. The adolescent brought his knees up to his chest and utilized his arms to fend off the upper-level salvo, though a part of him wanted to wipe off the spittle. He dared not move his arms for fear of getting hit in the face.

You will never accomplish anything; and everything that you earn, work for, or deserve will be taken from you, said the man in a voice that was nearly growling.

The man continued to smack Sage about the head and shoulders. Sage did his best to block the shots but did not swing back and would not cry. Sage was nearly expressionless, and no thoughts crossed his mind, save one—revenge.

A woman in her forties entered into the kitchen. She had a milky-caramel complexion, and it was apparent that, in her heyday, she had been a bombshell. She was still attractive, though less explosive. She sternly gripped the man’s shoulder and spoke. Chuck, stop. He’s had enough, she said.

Chuck stopped the physical violence, but the diatribe continued. See, boy…you’re soft. You let those boys take your bike. You gone’ lose everything. That’s probably why ya daddy left…

Seeming disturbed by the most recent comment, Sage’s mother intensified her tone. Chuck, that’s enough, she reiterated.

Sage was glad that his mother appeared at the time that she did as he knew that the situation could have been much more difficult. As he was leaving the room, Chuck was mumbling.

You lucky yo’ mama was here. Always having a woman save you. Pitiful…

Chapter 2

Sage continued to slumber in his mildly comfortable position in his office but did not awaken. He was slumped over his desk and would likely wake with what he had dubbed waffle butt on his face when he comes to. But for now, his nightmare was not over; it continued.

Sage sat in a park with Vickie. Vickie was in her late twenties, attractive, and brunette. Her hair fell down on her shoulders in medium-sized curls. Her skin was a golden olive and had always reminded Sage of a warm sunset. Her perfume was fragrant and earthy like a jasmine tea. The two of them lay on a blanket with fresh fruit, cheese, and wine neatly placed on a platter. The wine glasses balanced on small slates. The golden rays of the sun combined with the effervescence of the wine to create a miniature kaleidoscope, and the show danced silently on the blanket. Sage lay on his back with his head in her lap, and she was gently rubbing his head with one of her perfectly manicured hands. She was using the other arm to lean back and brace her body. Sage had always found Vickie’s head rubs relaxing and safe. He took a deep breath and cogitated about just how fortunate he was.

Vickie looked down at Sage and said, You know, Sage, you shouldn’t feel bad. You got out of the situation in one piece. Look at you now.

I know, babe. Love you… Sage sat up, looked at Vickie, and slowly leaned in for a kiss. Before the kiss could be initiated…in the distance, the sinister laugh of Chuck could be heard in this horrible dream.

You gone’ lose everything…

Chapter 3

A startled Sage awoke in his bedroom. For a moment, he was lost and could not remember how he got to his bedroom. His ear was itching uncontrollably. He sat up and did his best to put a finger in his ear in a vigorous attempt to scratch at the overwhelming inner-ear itch. As he struggled to reach the sweet spot, the itching suddenly subsided. He wiped his brow and reached for a water vessel that was on a nightstand near his bed. He took a long sip, but the tepid temperature of the water did little to quench his thirst. He winched himself out of bed and slowly made his way to his home office. He lazily plopped into his captain’s chair. The air in the cushions slowly, quietly hissed as it sought an escape. He reached toward his computer screen, hit the power button, and clicked on a web browser set to a news site. He began slowly scrolling through the various stories on the site.

A particular link caught his attention, and he clicked on it to access the site. It was a story that contained details regarding another murder in his city. He thought about the oddity that a story would start with the phrase another murder. He was interested and intrigued. He began to click away on the keyboard in a search for more detailed information. The sun started to show through the curtains, and an alarm on his phone sounded. The night had slipped past him.

He reluctantly shut off the screen and began to prepare for work. He headed to the kitchen, washed his hands, and began to make some coffee in a French press. He took a moment to select a piece of fruit from the fridge and rinse it. It was an apple, but not just an apple—his favorite, a Pink Lady. He paid particular attention to the act of drying it and sat it on a napkin on his counter.

Having prepped his morning snack, Sage went to his bedroom and opened his closet. There were casual shirts, dress shirts, and slacks. Everything was neatly organized and was neatly ironed. In the far right of the corner, there were two items not generally found side by side—a set of Marine Corps dress blues with sergeant stripes and the robe and tam of a doctor. He selected his clothing for the day: a white dress shirt and navy-blue pants. Next was a matching tie from a bundle that hung in the closet. He subconsciously aligned all his clothing items on his bed, being sure to smooth them with his hands. Sage smiled at his handiwork and to himself as he exited the bedroom and entered his moderately sized bathroom. He twisted the handle of the shower and let the sound of water hitting the shower floor and walls relax him. As a child, Sage did not find this sound relaxing; it was just noise. Now, he took pleasure in the uncomplicated activity of listening to the water run. He dropped to the ground to do a few push-ups.

Chapter 4

Sage stood at the sink in the kitchen and filled a portable cup with what most would have thought to be cream and sugar garnished with coffee. He grabbed the apple and the napkin and then headed for the door. There was a brief pause to look at a bike in his garage. It was rare that he rode it; he tended to favor jogging at this point in his life. Jogging was stress relieving; it prepared him, and it kept him in shape.

He turned toward his vehicle. It was a late-model mid-sized SUV that he found comfortable. Once inside, he secured himself with the seat belt. It clicked audibly; he tugged on the belt to adjust and snug the tension. Around the rearview mirror dangled a thin, simple gold chain. Attached to the chain was a capital letter V. He turned on the radio and switched it from a news channel to a station that played music. He listened to the light music as he made his way to the college where he worked. He paid little attention to the traffic and eventually found himself in the parking lot. He had gone right brain and did not remember much of the drive.

He put the car in park, opened his sunshades, and secured them in the windshield with the vehicle’s sun visors. The heat of the day was already building, and the thought of holding a hot steering wheel did not appeal to him. He grabbed his lanyard from the console, but the attached ID card had become wedged between the seat and console and had impeded his progress. He leaned into the vehicle to free it, being careful not to spill his creamy ambrosia. Once the card was free, he threw the lanyard over his neck and righted himself. He looked in the mirror and adjusted his tie. He drew his hand down the length of it, smoothing it. He left the vehicle and briskly walked to the security checkpoint where a guard in his late forties sat at a desk reading newspapers. Sage showed his badge and smiled at the guard. The guard beamed a smile back. The guard considered Sage a friend; Sage considered the guard an acquaintance.

Good morning, Professor Weiss.

Good morning, Hal, said Sage.

Hey, Professor…did you hear about the new condos going in downtown?

No, I didn’t. Kind of out of it this week.

Man, one day—that’ll be me. The guard pointed at the condos, then handed Sage the paper. Here, take my copy, said Hal.

Thanks, Hal. Sage grabbed the newspaper, folded it under his arm, and walked to his classroom. Once inside the room, he observed the students filing in. Some of the students greeted him, and he proffered greetings back to them.

Chapter 5

Sage began a lecture, but his words started to fade. He usually was focused, but today he was struggling to keep his focus. His game was off. Sage stood in front of the podium facing the class. He had begun to feel faint but did not want to elucidate to his students that he was not quite himself. He looked at his watch.

Class, read chapters 20, 21, and 23. See you Thursday, he said, uncharacteristically softly.

Murmurs and mumbles were heard as some students attempted to garner meaning behind the short class. Others seemed to be excited that the colloquium had ended early. Sage gathered his belongings and hurriedly headed back through the hall. He focused on the security checkpoint and then aimed for the parking lot like a bloodhound hot on the trail of an escaped prisoner’s scent.

You all right, Professor?

Not hearing the guard, Sage mumbled, You too, Hal.

Hal frowned, stared at Sage’s rapidly departing back, and returned to leafing through the other materials on his desk. Sage arrived at his vehicle, unlocked it, and entered. The heat permeated his clothing, and the seat was already warm. He shut the door, started the engine, and immediately pushed the maximum cool button on his air conditioner in an attempt to battle the early morning Phoenix sun. The engine purred, and the radio softly played. Sage drove off, headed for home.

Once home, Sage removed his shoes and loosened his tie. He sank into the couch and palmed the remote. After powering on the television, his hand leisurely flipped through a few channels until his eyelids grew heavy. He was short on sleep; his head bobbed, his lids became more burdensome, and he began to doze. He did not fight what his military counterparts referred to as the sleep monster. He let the beast win.

Chapter 6

Sage’s rest was light, and he vacillated between sleep and the occasional click of the channel button on the remote. The television had paused on a science channel as the sleep monster continued to best Sage. This was one of the few times Sage’s desire to always win was not overwhelming; he did not fight. On the television, a show about love, relationships, and sex played. Sage listened but gave the show less than a proper amount of attention. As the show continued, Sage heard something about sexual relations. This got his attention, and he opened one eye a bit more than the other and began to half-listen.

The show addressed a scenario regarding men and women and their relationships. It mentioned that when men and women were involved in couples, and they spent time apart that particular and peculiar biological things occurred. It went on to discuss that upon the man’s return to the woman or her rejoining him—his body generated an abnormal amount of sperm. Some of those sperm were designed for hunting and killing any foreign sperm that may be within the woman. This grabbed Sage’s attention; he slowly sat up and then increased the volume of the television. He listened attentively, and at the next commercial, he walked to his office and logged onto his computer. He quickly pulled up a web browser and began to research the term killer sperm. In his research, he started to find anomalies but realized that no one was really addressing the issue of killer sperm. Not many seemed to care.

Some of the articles located addressed the fact that killer sperm worked by utilizing enzymes to destroy foreign sperm and did not seem to possess the ability to impregnate a woman. But he focused on one particular point: the point that the sperm seemed to differ when the man traveled or the couple had been apart. This took Sage down a path of discovery, and he was enjoying the research. He continued to dig into articles and found a few more links on the various scenarios.

He leaned back in his chair and relaxed. He let his head slowly fall back, and he stared at the ceiling. His mind was racing. He began to develop a radical hypothesis—that perhaps killer sperm could indeed impregnate a woman. The scientists had said no, but he thought, Does anyone really track all those little sperm? How could they? In his mind, he questioned whether these killer sperm could generate children. But his thoughts began to revolve around the question: What if those children grew up to be serial killers or just killers in general? In his mind, this made sense as a hypothesis since killer sperm was simply designed for the purpose of hunting and killing.

He reached for his smartphone, placed it on his desk, and hit the voice-activated function. Call Parker. The phone rang three or four times.

Parker was a slim and fit Asian man in his early thirties. He answered on the other end.

Hello? Sage said. It’s me. How’s it going, my man? How’s business?

Business is good. Dang, bro, it’s been a minute. How the heck are you? I haven’t heard from you for a while…How are you holding up? said Parker.

I’m good, man. I think I’ve stumbled onto something. But you are going to think I’m crazy…my bad, bro. Apologies.

Parker paused. Okay. Try me, bro. You know I’ve dealt with my fair share of being called names and people questioning my mental stability.

Reluctantly, Sage said, So you know I’ve been going through a lot and dealing with this situation…and it has been one hell of a struggle. But I stumbled across something that got my brain thinking. I’ve got this idea about killer sperm.

Oh, geez, I’m listening…There’s part of me that wants to laugh, but you are brotha from anotha mutha and one of my best friends. He paused. I’m awfully short of those these days. I’ll humor you. Let’s hear it. Parker fell silent.

Okay, so it’s a little bit nutty… Sage emitted slowly.

Easy, Sage, mumbled Parker.

Sage’s tone immediately went to an apologetic one. Sorry…What if people were destined to be who they are?

What do you mean? Aren’t we all destined to be someone? Parker questioned.

What if other forces were at work? Sage stated.

Other forces? Bro, I have said there were other forces for years.

I know, bro. I am taking a page out of your book.

Parker laughed and said, Don’t read that book before bed. Parker continued to chuckle but tried to control it. Okay, but what does this have to do with killer sperm? What the heck is killer sperm anyway? I have heard of sperm killer—

Sage interrupted, and his irritation was apparent in his tone. Hey, man, I thought you said you’re going to humor me. I know where I’m going with this, and it is going to be a bit radical…Just hear me out. He paused ever so briefly. "So I was checking out this special