Dead Hunt by Kenn Crawford Read Free Book Online Page B

lab warm during the winter, but Heslin had to manually
pump water from the deep well because the sub zero temperatures of
a typical Margaree winter froze the waterline; and every winter he
still had to freeze his ass off in the outhouse. Heslin hated that
outhouse. He hated it so much that some days he prayed for
constipation just so he would not have to go to that disgusting
place. But, his steady diet of cold coffee made sure that prayer
was never answered.
    With his hand freshly wrapped in too much
gauze, Heslin headed to the lounge area and poured himself a
scotch. He swallowed it in one drink then refilled his glass.
Distraught with failure, he flopped in the big Lazy Boy chair and
stared at the picture of Bell hanging above the fireplace. He took
another drink, stood up, and walked towards the picture.
    "Well Alex," he said to the picture, "now
what do I do?"
    Heslin stared at the picture as if he was
waiting for an answer. The picture said nothing. Heslin gently
picked up his father's old fiddle and tucked it under his whiskered
chin. He fumbled with the bow, the gauze on his hand making it
difficult to tighten the bow or properly hold it. With a soft,
quiet breath, Heslin gently pulled the bow across the strings.
    The once quiet room was now filled with sound
as Heslin played the old Scottish tune, “Neil Gow's Lament for the
Loss of His Second Wife”.
    Playing the tune always seemed to clear
Heslin’s cluttered mind and soothe his feelings of failure. As he
played, Bell’s picture seemed to take on a new look.
    The picture itself never changed, only
Heslin's image of it. In his mind, Bell seemed to smile in
appreciation.
    Birds and crickets seemed to appreciate it as
well, for their singing became louder, drifting in the open windows
in harmony to Heslin’s playing. The sound of the little creek that
flowed just a few feet from Heslin’s lab before traveling down to
the valley also seemed to bubble a little bit louder. A symphony of
nature joined the gentle sounds of Heslin’s fiddle.
    As he played, Heslin's mind drifted back to a
time three years earlier when he’d sat looking across a large, oak
conference table with the twelve men he had invited to hear his
proposal. They were all wearing tailored suits and expensive
watches, obvious signs of wealth. Each knew of Heslin’s recent
loss, but when a Nobel Prize winning scientist requested a meeting,
especially one whose last proposal had generated a huge return on
investment, only a fool would not attend that meeting.
    It was at this meeting they quickly learned
his new proposal was far beyond anything they could have ever
imagined.

    CHAPTER 4 – The Proposal

    “So what you are saying, Professor Heslin,”
one of them finally broke the cold silence that swallowed the room,
“is that you want to bring the dead back to life? Sounds more like
science fiction than a business investment.”
    Several chuckles followed. Heslin stood up
abruptly, silencing the chuckles. His thick, wavy hair, once a rich
brown, was now a bright shade of gray and made Heslin look older
than his forty years. He stared intently at the man for the
briefest of seconds, but it was enough to make the man shrink in
his chair. Heslin broke his piercing stare then looked at the men
with smiling eyes as he began the speech he had prepared for
exactly this moment.
    “Science fiction. I’ve heard that before,”
Heslin’s lips curled into a boyish smirk. “From scientists no
less.”
    The men smiled with him, the tension in the
room subsiding.
    “Gentlemen,” Heslin continued in a commanding
voice, “I could go on and on about how the mere thought of being
able to hear a human voice across hundreds of miles on copper wires
was thought to be mere science fiction; yet Bell created his
telephone, and let’s not forget Marconi. Sending messages across
the ocean without the wires! Preposterous!”
    Heslin paused a practiced pause, scanning the
eyes of his audience. “How many inventions