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Jurassic Park Dawn of Retribution Epilogue
By JPJunkee+Yvonne
Author Note: At the epilogue's conclusion, please look for a list of thank-you's and a sneak
peek at the third story in this trilogy. Thanks!
EPILOGUE
"Never let go of hope. One day you will see that it all has finally come together.
What you have always wished for has finally come to be. You will look back and
laugh at what has passed and you will ask yourself . . . 'How did I get through all of that?'
Just never let go of hope. Just never quit dreaming. And never let love depart from your life."
-- Jancari Campi --
Ian Malcolm switched on his turn signal, then made a right, heading down another street lined with houses and white picket fences. "Did you remember to call your sister and tell her we won't be able to make it tonight?" he asked.
Sarah nodded in the passenger seat, "And your parents, and Kelly, and your friends from the school, too. Everyone can have a nice dinner together, it will do them some good." She smiled then, "We have the whole night to ourselves."
By now, nearly everyone in the world had heard of the destruction of Isla Sorna. And while the media was in a frenzy to hear any comments from the survivors, the families of those who had made it off the island, were trying to get into contact with their loved ones. Close friends and family members had wanted to meet with Ian and Sarah, on the night they got back into the States, but the two were both physically and emotionally drained, opting to spend the night alone in the confines of their own home.
Malcolm turned again, coming onto their street. Ahead of them, they could see their house. On the front lawn and crowding the street was a large mass of reporters, cameramen, and assorted news vans with a bright number plastered to the side. All the people looked in each and every direction, waiting for the couple to return home. Malcolm frowned, pulling the car to the curb in front of a nearby neighbor's house, about two blocks away from the collection of people from the media.
Malcolm sighed and put the car in park. "I don't want to deal with them, not today . . . not ever really, but especially not today."
Sarah stared at their house. The reporters shared a remarkable resemblance to a horde of angry and eager ants gathering around their little ant mound waiting for food to arrive. "There's always a hotel," she said.
Malcolm nodded, and put the car into reverse. "There's always a hotel." He smiled, pulling away from the curb, and then driving off into the opposite direction of their house.
Since his return, Malcolm had begun to realize and really fully appreciate what he had in his life. Life had seemed so dreary and slow, and his relationship with his wife had been worsening to the point where he would turn over in bed in the morning and wonder who the person was beside him. They didn't know each other anymore. And sometimes, Malcolm considered, a brush with death, a glimpse to your own personal end of the world, is what makes you realize what has happened and options on ways to fix it are revealed. He had survived against all odds on the island because he had refused to give up. Sarah and himself were not about to give up on their lives together. Against all odds, they would find a way to survive. A new beginning, in some respects, he thought. Time to become acquainted with himself and his wife again.
He glanced at Sarah and smiled. It felt good to be happy and smile again.
* * *
"Alan, relax. He's just a little kid," Leah encouraged as the truck made its way through the giant subdivision.
Grant wasn't listening though, as he held up the hand-drawn map in front of him again, "We should have made a right back there."
"You're a lousy navigator. Anyone ever tell you that?" she teased as she slowed the truck down and turned around.
"Actually . . . no," he said, thinking and frowning, "No, not really. But thank you." She was about to add something when he pointed, "There! Go there. On Hawthorne Dr."
"Okay, okay."
She turned the truck left and after a few houses, Grant swore to himself.
"What now?" she asked.
"I don't know where the hell we're at," he conceded.
"Give me the map." He handed it to her and then he opened the glove compartment. "What are you looking for?"
"Phone," he answered, not looking at her.
"I didn't bring it," she said, stopping the truck to take a look at the map.
"What? Why not?"
"I forgot it."
Grant continued to fumble in the glove compartment, trying to get everything to stay in there long enough for him to close it back. The cast on his right hand was making it hard to catch everything, though. Papers and various other things landed on the floorboard.
"What is all of that stuff?" Leah asked, looking away from the map.
Bending over and picking most of it up, Grant rummaged through it, "Just papers. I don't know." He took a closer look at some papers that had been badly crumbled. "I'll be damned."
"What is it?" Leah said, putting the truck back into drive. She had read the map and figured out where to go now.
"InGen," he answered.
"InGen?"
Grant nodded, "Papers from InGen. We found them on the island."
"You kept them?"
"I guess so," he replied, putting them back into the glove compartment. "I'll have to give these back to Hammond. He might find them interesting."
"That's probably a good idea."
"Yeah," he agreed, "So, did you figure out where we're going?"
"Sure did. Two left's, a right, and then another left and two more right's."
"Wow."
"Wow?"
"Is there an echo in here?" he teased.
Leah smiled and when she did it made Alan want to suddenly kiss her. Temporarily, he forgot about the upcoming meeting with Charlie and, even tougher in his mind, the meeting with Patricia, Ellie's mother. Leaning in close, he reached under her chin and gently turned her head toward him. She slowed the truck down and they shared a much-needed kiss, taking their feelings into a different, less nervous, direction.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hearing a car door slam, Patricia Sattler abandoned the dish she was washing and walked toward the living room.
She approached the window, pulled the drapes back and peered outside. There was a red pick-up truck parked in front of the house and she watched as the female driver ran around the front of the truck to open the passenger-door. The driveway was empty, but the driver hadn't opted to use it, parking on the street instead.
The passenger-side door was opened soon after, and Alan Grant slowly stepped out onto the grass.
Smiling to herself, she opened the door as quietly as possible, and walked out on the porch. It was so good to see him. A wealth of emotions flooded her as she began to briskly make her way toward him. He was draped in bandages, including a shoulder sling, and a cast on his right hand that went almost to his elbow. His face sported multiple bruises that looked very painful.
She stopped just short of him, "You look terrible."
Alan smiled and she saw him wince from the effort as he said, "Thanks."
She nodded, a few tears forming.
"I'm so sorry, Patricia," he whispered, gazing into her warm eyes, trying to somehow help her deal with her daughter's death. He knew that she had found out about it and he also knew that she had already completed the emotional task of telling the children. She didn't, however, tell them about Alan's newfound fatherhood. He had asked her to wait until he was there in person, before confusing Charlie more.
She wasted no more time with formalities. She had always liked Alan, wishing that he and Ellie would have somehow patched things up long ago. And now, standing so close to him and seeing the hurt in his eyes, she felt the desperate need to make contact.
Remaining next to the passenger-side door, Leah felt very out of place as Patricia reached out and clung to Alan. She watched the woman begin to cry as Alan wrapped his one good arm around her, his own tears starting.
"I couldn't help her," he whispered only loud enough for Patricia to hear.
Patricia tightened her grip on him, unknowingly causing him to wince again. Finally, she relaxed her grip some, wiping away tears and trying to find the courage to talk through the wave of emotions that were threatening to take over.
"Please, don't think like that," she managed to say. "It's not your fault."
Alan shook his head, defying her statement, as he visualized Ellie's weak stare fixated on him back on the island. "I don't kn---"
When he began to speak, she placed her hand over his mouth, "It's not your fault. Don't be placing this on yourself, Alan. More than anyone else, you need to get it into perspective."
"I know," he agreed.
"Good," she stammered.
He saw her look past him and toward the street. Frowning he said, "How rude of me." He released Patricia and turned toward Leah, "Patricia, this is Leah Owens . . . a good friend of mine. Leah, this is Ellie's mother, Patricia."
Leah took a few steps away from the truck and extending a hand toward Patricia, "Nice to meet you," she said awkwardly, and then she added, "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," Patricia acknowledged.
Sensing the uncomfortable silence, Alan changed the subject, "Where are the kids?"
Charlie and his sister were staying at their Grandma's house when Ellie and Mark had gone on vacation, so they had remained there after the tragedies.
Patricia seemed relieved to have the excuse to look at him again, "Samantha is asleep and Charlie is three doors down, playing with a friend."
Alan nodded and Patricia could see that he was questioning the whereabouts of Charlie, "You're an hour and a half late, so I let him go play."
"Sorry about that," Alan offered.
Patricia didn't get the chance to respond. A tiny voice was yelling something, over and over, from down the street.
"Alan!" Charlie yelled.
Patricia watched a grin develop on Alan's face. That little blonde-haired boy could make just about anyone smile.
"Hey, Charlie," Alan said.
The six-year-old was smiling brightly as he bolted down the sidewalk.
Patricia watched her grandson, who had been viciously stripped of his parents only the week before, run across the lawn and toward the truck. Ever since she had broken the news about Ellie and Mark, Charlie had been very quiet, almost completely withdrawn, but now his enthusiasm was very high in the midst of his mother's death. She knew it was because of only one thing. The dinosaur man. Alan was a very happy link to his mother's past and he adored the scientist.
Charlie stopped at the edge of the lawn, choosing to stand on the sidewalk and wait, since he had spotted Leah, whose presence had been blocked by a tree.
"That's Alan's friend, Leah. She won't bite you," Patricia explained.
Leah smiled warmly, trying to make the boy feel more comfortable. It must have worked, since Charlie made his way toward Alan, only to stop again as he stared at the sling around his neck.
Alan saw the child's worried expression, so he slowly knelt down, wincing as he did so, "It's okay," he said, trying to encourage the boy to come closer.
Leah crossed her arms in front of her, suddenly feeling a little bit cold. She had backed away from everyone, standing next to the truck, watching the little boy wrap his arms around Alan. She was aware of his reputation with children, but it wasn't plainly obvious right now, the way he reacted with Charlie.
Charlie's happiness faded as Alan held him, and now the boy was slightly crying as he squeezed Alan tight. Feeling a little more brave, Charlie lifted up his head, gently released Alan and asked, "What happened to your arm?"
"Just a little accident," Alan answered.
"Did you do that at the dig site?"
After thinking about it for a moment, that was as good a place as any to use for the location, "Yeah."
"Is that where Mommy and Daddy had their accident?"
Alan was at a loss for words. He hadn't expected Charlie to be so direct and he also hadn't expected to have a reaction to Charlie's use of the word 'Daddy'. Nevertheless, it got to him emotionally. He cleared his throat and placed his left hand on the boy's shoulder, "What do you know about that?" he asked, trying to be cautious.
Charlie didn't get a chance to answer since Patricia had decided to intervene, "You don't have to stand out here, you know. Come on inside, Alan," she said quietly.
The woman could be a barracuda when she needed to be and then the next minute, be the most soothing person in the world. Ellie was very much like her mother and he smiled as he remembered her in his mind. He looked at Ellie's mother, "If you insist," he replied, as he stood up again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alan followed Patricia to the porch and then walked in front of her to open the door for everyone. Charlie ran between them first, running into the house.
"Charlie, your sister is sleeping, so keep it down," Patricia said to the boy's back.
"Yeah, yeah," he answered, continuing to run down the hall toward his bedroom.
Leah smiled at Alan, as they followed Patricia into the kitchen. After a moment of silence, Patricia made her way to the kitchen counter. "You want some coffee?" she asked Alan, trying to make small talk.
"No, thanks."
"Oh, yes. You're the non-coffee drinker. I remember now." Grant nodded with a faint grin, then Patricia looked at Leah, "Coffee?"
"Sure, thank you."
Patricia poured her a cup of coffee and then sat down across from them. Again, there was silence. The phone rang, causing Patricia to jump at first and then be thankful that she had something to do. She stood up and walked to the phone, picking it up. "Hello?"
Alan used the spare moment to look at Leah, to see how she was holding up, but then the rising anger in Patricia's voice caused him to look toward the phone.
"I don't care how much money you're willing to pay me! I'm NOT going to tell you anything! Now God damn it. Quit calling my house!"
Alan stood as she slammed the receiver down in frustration. Then, she stopped to make sure she didn't wake up Samantha during her senseless mini-tirade.
After waiting to make sure the little girl didn't wake up, Alan asked, "Anything I can do?"
"Yeah, can you bring my daughter back?" she said to him, still obviously upset with the reporter on the line. Immediately, she felt stupid for saying such an awful thing. "Oh, God, I don't know where that came from."
He moved toward her while she started to break down right there in front of them. To his amazement though, she composed herself and put her arm out, "I'm okay. I just need to stop letting those damn reporters get under my skin." She looked toward Leah and, again, felt stupid, "No offense to you," she added.
"None taken," Leah replied quickly, absently playing with the handle on her coffee cup.
The three of them stopped talking once again. Patricia was having a hard time coping with the silence and wanted nothing more than for it to stop, "This is all just a little awkward for me," she observed.
"I'm not sure where to go from here," Alan admitted.
"I suppose talking about my Grandson would probably be in order."
Alan nodded, agreeing with her, "I'm not planning on separating the kids," he said, feeling strange even having to say such a thing in the first place.
"Well, I have to admit, that's a load off my mind."
"I'll be perfectly honest with you," Alan said, taking a deep breath, "I had no idea about him."
Patricia looked hurt, as if she was remembering something from the past. "I know you didn't."
"I take it you knew?"
"Yes I did. And it was one of the many things Ellie and I could not agree on. I know you're not supposed to talk ill of the deceased, but it wasn't right for her not to tell you."
Alan didn't know how to react to that. He wasn't happy about the secrets Ellie kept from him, but he was also partially relieved that she knew he wouldn't be able to handle such a responsibility. He thought he knew his limitations and he wasn't too disappointed with Ellie for remaining silent.
Thinking about the events of the last few days, though, he was seeing things in a different light. He had accepted being a father and now he wasn't so sure about the limitations he had placed upon himself all those years ago.
Patricia seemed to see his mixed feelings very clearly. "How did you want to tell him?"
"I . . . I'm not sure," he confessed.
This made Patricia laugh a little, "We sure did plan all of this out well, didn't we?"
Alan and Leah smiled at her and before the uncomfortable conversation could go on, Leah's pager went off. Excusing herself, she checked it and then quickly stood up, "Could I use your phone?"
"Sure you can," Patricia answered. "If you need some privacy, there's a phone in the living room."
"Okay, thank you."
When Leah was gone, Patricia continued to stare in the direction she had gone. Then, she finally looked back at Alan, who was just staring at Leah's coffee cup.
"She seems well-suited for you."
Alan wasn't really paying attention, "What?"
Patricia smiled, "Leah. She seems very nice."
"Oh, well . . . thanks. She is quite a person," he said admirably.
"How did you meet her?" Alan started to answer, but she cut him off, "You know, that's really not any of my business. Sorry about that."
"I don't mind, really."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Listening to the conversation in the kitchen for a moment, Leah cringed as she realized they were talking about her. Finally pulling her attention away from them, she picked up the telephone receiver, dialing a phone number. After one ring, someone picked up so she inquired, "Donald?"
"Leah! I'm supposed to tell you that Ernie Rhodes was spotted in your area."
Ernie Rhodes was a well-known photographer that would stop at nothing to get a photo of whatever the top story was that day. She knew of his tactics, but had never had a run-in with the man. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. Ronnie wanted me to get in touch with you and tell you that Rhodes was seen on a plane this morning, coming your way."
"Well, tell Ronnie I owe him a headline."
"Sure thing, Leah. Just keep your eyes open for the prick."
Leah smiled, "I will, Donald. Thanks."
She hung up the phone and stood there, contemplating whether or not she should remain where she was, or go back to the close scrutiny from Ellie's mother.
The choice was taken away from her, when Alan and Patricia walked into the living room.
"Phone call finished?" Alan asked quietly.
Leah nodded and smiled, "Yeah."
"I'll go get him," Patricia said, walking down the hallway.
Seeing that Leah was curious, Alan explained, "Patricia thinks it would be good to tell Charlie about me in here."
"Are you okay with this?"
"I think so."
"Well, Alan, if you would rather tell him on your own, or at another time altogether, just tell her."
"She knows him best, so I'm going to trust her judgment."
Patricia led the child into the living room, holding his little hand and encouraging him to sit on his favorite rocking chair.
Once he was situated, Patricia motioned for Alan and Leah to come closer as she began the process of telling her grandson some very important things. "Do you know what a step-dad is?"
"Uh-huh," the boy said, squirming on the rocking chair. "Eddie has a step-dad and a step-mom."
"Oh, okay."
"Eddie lives by my house."
Patricia nodded, and then continued, "Well, what if I told you that you had a step-dad, too?"
"I do?"
"Mark was your step-dad, Charlie."
Leah didn't feel as if she should be involved in such a personal matter, all of a sudden. She took a couple of steps away from everyone, but Alan had her hand.
He felt her moving away, so he squeezed her hand tight and whispered, "Please stay. I need you."
She nodded and remained in place while Patricia was still in the midst of explaining things to Charlie.
"Yes, Mark loved you a lot."
"Is my real Daddy gone now, too?"
"No, honey. He's not gone."
Patricia glanced at Alan, wiped a few tears away, and then gestured to him, indicating it was his turn to join the conversation.
Alan nodded and let go of Leah's hand, kneeling down next to the rocking chair. "I'm your dad, Charlie."
"You?" Charlie asked in confusion, faint delight, and more fear than Alan had hoped.
"Yeah."
"But you're my uncle."
Alan smiled uncomfortably, "Well, it turns out that I'm more than that."
"What about Sam? Are you her daddy, too?"
"No, I'm not."
"Why?"
Alan was running out of explanations. He wasn't used to dealing with kids and their feelings. He was beyond thankful when Patricia came to his rescue.
"Because your mommy married Mark after you were born, then had your sister."
Instantly, Alan knew that she wasn't telling the whole truth. Ellie and Mark had been married before Charlie had been born . . . he was sure of that much. The whole thing was still running through his mind like a freight train, as he realized just how much delicate juggling Ellie must have done from the last time they were together, up until her marriage. He didn't question Patricia, though. He was almost positive she was just trying to simplify things for Charlie, so he filed away the urge to ask for more details.
Charlie seemed to accept that reason and almost immediately changed the subject. He looked at Leah. "Who are you?"
"I told you earlier who she was, Charlie," Patricia said, "Don't be rude."
"No, that's okay," Leah said. She kneeled next to Alan, placing her arm on his thigh for balance, "My name is Leah and I'm a good friend of Alan's."
There was an unexpected interruption when Samantha began to cry from down the hallway. Patricia quickly excused herself and hurried toward the little girl's bedroom.
"You have hair like my mom," Charlie said, still staring at Leah.
Alan hardly heard a word that was said since Patricia had mentioned Ellie. The more he looked at Charlie . . . directly into his expressive eyes . . . the more he could see Ellie staring back at him. He couldn't take the constant reminder all of a sudden, and felt the need to get his emotions back into check. Abruptly, he stood up and headed for the restroom, leaving Leah there alone with his son.
Leah glanced toward Alan, understanding that he needed to get away from the whole nerve-racking situation. Unlike Alan, though, Leah was having an easy time identifying with the overwhelmed, albeit charming, little boy, "You mean, blonde?"
"Yeah. It's cool."
Charlie sat there for a minute, looking at Leah and ignoring everything else. She couldn't help but notice the way he was resting his hands on his legs. Very much the same way Alan would. In fact, there were a lot of little things Charlie did that reminded her of Alan in one way or another. They really are related, she thought comically. The boy even had the same part in his hair.
"Are you married?"
Leah found the question funny, but she answered it in a serious manner, "No. I've never been married."
"Why?"
"Because . . . I don't know why."
"Oh."
Leah could hear Patricia talking to Samantha, trying to talk her back to sleep. "So, how old is your sister?"
"Three . . . No!" the boy corrected himself, "She's four. She's four now. I'm almost seven," he added proudly.
"You're a very big boy."
"I can ride a bike with only two wheels!" he exclaimed.
"That's great."
"Wanna watch me?"
"Maybe another time, okay sweetie?"
"Yeah, okay," Charlie replied, disappointed.
Leah saw Alan coming back down the hall now. He was perspiring from his temples and still possessed a very nervous composure. She decided it was time for him to come out of his shell though, and talk with this child who was just as confused as his newly-found father.
"Where's the restroom?" she asked.
His eyes widened at the prospect of being left alone with Charlie, but he just sighed and pointed, "End of the hall. On the left."
Leah nodded and left the two of them alone.
Charlie had still been sitting on the chair, but when Alan approached the couch, Charlie stood up and took a few steps toward him, causing Alan to step backwards, not knowing what to do or how to act. "I want my Mommy," the boy said, tears clouding his little eyes.
"I know you do," Alan said, kneeling down. Charlie ran into his arms and began to cry with Alan holding his emotions at bay long enough to comfort the child.
"I miss her!" Charlie yelled in anguish, crying very hard now. He started to take uncontrollable breaths, like a child does when they're very distraught, "I . . . I m-miss . . . h-her."
Alan couldn't help but to cry with him as he tried to stumble out a few words, "I miss her too, Charlie. I do, too." His words seemed to have a positive affect on him. Alan just continued to soothe him by saying what came natural, "I'm here to help you, Charlie. We're going to get through this together. It's okay."
Charlie's crying had alerted Patricia, who hurriedly made her way down the hall. She met up with Leah, who was standing off to the side, her arms crossed, just observing the moment. Patricia did the same and the two women watched as Alan Grant rocked his little boy in his arms, blind to the audience behind him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At Patricia's insistence, they stayed and ate dinner there. Afterwards, they all found themselves on the front porch. Charlie's outburst was the first real step towards the father-son bonding and it did wonders for both of them, respectively. Alan was much more at ease with Charlie, proven by the playful bantering he exhibited.
Patricia hugged Alan tightly and he returned it, wincing slightly.
"When can I expect you back?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," he answered, waiting for her to release him. She didn't seem to be in any hurry to do so.
Finally, she let him go. "I'll make one of your favorites for dinner," she coaxed.
"Steak and eggs?" Alan asked with happiness.
"You can count on it," she said, smiling.
Laughing at just how happy food could make Alan sometimes, Leah stood by and watched as he continued to talk to Patricia. At the same time, he was playfully messing up Charlie's hair, since the six-year-old was now seemingly attached to his leg.
"Could you knock someone out with that?" Charlie asking, pointing to the cast on Alan's right hand.
"I don't know. Probably," he answered as he and Leah made their way toward his truck.
"Awesome!" Charlie yelled, still by his side as Alan walked.
"Let's test it out on you," Alan said, teasing Charlie and pretending to hit him with it.
"No, no . . . how about Grandma?" the boy suggested, giggling.
Patricia laughed out loud and it felt very good to express joy again. She hadn't done much of that for understandable reasons. They were stopped next to the truck. "What happened to Charlie the Grandma protector?" she asked, still laughing.
"I don't know," Charlie answered, shrugging his shoulders, still quite fascinated by the cast on Alan's hand.
Leah had been enjoying the surreal moment when she heard a peculiar clicking noise. Her smile faded, knowing what it was right away. A camera was clicking somewhere nearby. She pretended to drop something, bending down next to the truck to pick it up. She used the opportunity to sneak a peek through the rear window as she slowly rose up again.
Carefully scanning the area, she smiled to herself as she spotted what she had been sure she would spot. There was a balding man hiding in the bushes, about four houses down, snapping shot after shot with his long angle lens.
"Hey!" she screamed as she took off running.
Patricia and Alan glanced at each other, shocked to hear Leah yell so urgently. At the same time, they looked toward the street.
The balding man, shocked in his own right, gasped with dread. He quickly packed up his equipment and began to run down the sidewalk, various camera equipment flapping around. He copped a glance behind him once, and when he did, he tripped over an uneven section in the sidewalk. He was able to stay upright though, as he continued to flee.
Leah wasn't letting up in the least. She had been magically injected with adrenaline, keeping a very good pace. She was only about two houses back now.
"Would you look at her go?" Patricia said in awe.
Alan only smiled as he absently made his way to the middle of the street.
Charlie was at his side. Grabbing Alan's hand, he asked, "What is she doing?"
Before Alan could answer, Patricia did it for him, "She's catching herself a bad guy."
That was something the boy could identify with, "Cool!"
Alan continued to smile as he watched Leah gain another house on the man. She had begun to shift directions, from the street to the sidewalk.
Out of breath, the overweight bald man began to slow down, running out of steam. When he stole another quick glance back, he was more than amazed that the woman was right on top of him.
Leah tackled him on the spot, with both of them plunging to the concrete. The man yelped in pain and then cried out a profanity when he realized one of his cameras had broken in the fall.
"What the hell are you doing, lady?" the man yelled in between gasps of breath.
"I think the proper question is what that hell are you doing?" Leah countered, barely breathing hard.
She moved away from him, watching him gather up his things.
"This is a free country, lady."
Leah nodded in agreement as she approached him again, "You're absolutely right. It is a free country." She grabbed the broken camera and opened it, exposing the film.
"Hey!" the man yelled.
Ignoring him, she pulled the film out and crinkled it up, "I'm also free to do what I want to do, so get the hell out here, you heartless little prick!"
"Whatever lady. You're nuts."
She watched the man walk toward his van, parked a few more houses down, and then she turned back toward Alan and the others. They seemed so far away to her. And they were all staring at her, which made her feel a little uncomfortable.
She began to walk toward them, muttering words about the bald man, "Damn photographers. Lowest damn people on the planet. Lower than low."
Patricia placed her hands on her hips, smiling. "That woman is very spirited!" she said adoringly.
Alan laughed, "Yeah, she's a no-nonsense kind of person, that's for sure."
"Just like Ellie," Patricia observed, becoming serious again.
"Yes," Alan said softly, "Just like Ellie."
* * *
The sun was beginning to set. The cold of the night was beginning to take hold. In the driver's seat of an old black Buick, FBI agent Jonas Radner wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. He took a deep breath, and stole another look at the house to his left.
The lawn looked like it hadn’t been mowed in over a month, long pieces of grass hanging over the cracked sidewalk. The mailbox next to the front door was hanging open, but there were no letters or other articles of mail inside. The house appeared to be in total disarray, complete with crooked shutters, cracking paint, and dirty windows.
Radner sighed and reached into his jacket pocket, retrieving a pack of cigarettes. Shaking an individual cigarette into his hand, he popped it between his lips, and then grabbed the lighter from the dashboard. The miniature flame lit the end of the cig, he inhaled once, watching the smoke drift to the car's ceiling. He nodded to himself, then stepped out of the car.
Through the glows of the streetlight, Radner looked like any normal man. His thin brown hair buzzed to within an inch of his scalp. He possessed a somewhat large gut, signifying his American heritage. The black leather jacket and rugged blue jeans fit him well though, and helped give him a more serious and tough guy appearance, that was otherwise taken away by his kind face.
Walking methodically towards the house, he tried to hold his chin up high.
Before coming, he had been briefed over what to expect. Cops had raided the house a day earlier, finding information and evidence scattered throughout the house. But this was a Federal matter, and the cops were told not to disturb anything, and to leave everything the way they had found it.
Radner had confidence the county police would follow the rules. This was his case. He had been involved with it for nearly a year now, ever since the last agent covering it suddenly passed away.
Approaching the front of the house, he took out the keys from his pocket and then unlocked the door. Before entering, he took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it onto the sidewalk.
The house was dark, all the lights were off. Radner slipped two plastic gloves onto his hands, and then flipped the light switch.
Radner held his breath as the house illuminated.
He was in the kitchen. On the kitchen counter, was a blender and an empty milk jug.
Nothing abnormal.
Moving out of the kitchen, he stepped into the living room.
There was a television in the corner with a couch and coffee table sitting in front of it. Only one piece of furniture to sit on in the entire room. Apparently the house did not get frequent visitors.
Behind the couch, against the wall, was a bookcase. One can always learn a lot about a person by knowing what they read, he reminded himself, as he began to look over the books.
"Beyond Chaos" by Mark Ward. "Predicting Order in an Unpredictable World" by Ian Malcolm. "Chaos in Dynamical Systems" by Edward Ott. "Recombinant DNA" by James D. Watson. "Vertebrate Paleontology and Evolution" by Robert L. Carrol. "Theropods: The Essence of Evolution" by Alan Grant. "Coexistence of Botany and Biology in a Prehistoric World" by Ellie Degler forward by Jack Horner. And "Atlas of the Prehistoric World" by Douglas Palmer, among many others that fell into such categories.
Radner paused as he looked at the books written by Grant, Degler and Malcolm. His eyes focused on the leather binding, he slowly ran his gloved hand over Degler's book. He removed the book from its spot on the shelf, and looked at Ellie's picture on the back cover. He sighed, tilting his head to the side.
He and others from his department were beginning to suspect something about Larson. They also heard rumblings about another expedition to Sorna, and that American scientists would be involved. Three days ago, Radner had tried to get into contact with some of the Jurassic Park survivors. He had wanted to just tell them to be cautious. But alas, every person he called, he got their answering machine or had simply not been able to speak to them. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had reached Dr. Degler in time things would have ended up differently.
Outside, a dog barked.
Radner jumped, startled by the sudden unexpected noise. He looked again at the book in his hands, then he put it back on the shelf. He took a deep breath and left the living room.
From there, he walked into the hallway. There were three doors in the hall. He walked slowly to the first door, and opened it.
A closet. Filled with jackets in the middle, and then towels and blankets on a shelf to the side. Nothing abnormal. Radner closed the door.
He moved to the next door in the hall, the bathroom.
A toilet, a shower, a sink, a medicine cabinet with a mirror. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked scared and agitated. But more than anything else, he simply looked like he didn't belong here.
This always had been the one part he had hated about being with the FBI -- going into houses of the deceased. He felt like he was intruding. He felt like he was the one doing the wrong thing.
He looked at his face in the mirror, and frowned. Then, he reached his hand up and opened the cabinet. Inside were many small medicine containers. He picked up the first and looked at the label, reading it aloud, "Luvox . . . antidepressant."
He put the medicine down, and picked up another, "Unisom . . . sleep aid."
Shaking his head, Radner put the medicine back, shutting the cabinet doors. He had seen enough.
He exited the bathroom and moved to the last room in the hall. Slowly, he opened the door, and walked in.
The bedroom. A bed, a nightstand, a closet, and a ceiling fan. He moved to the closet, and looked inside. Just clothing. Nothing abnormal. Then he checked the nightstand, nothing of interest there. Throwing the covers off the bed, he checked under the pillow. Nothing.
He frowned, and exited the room.
He had now visited all of the rooms on the main floor. Only the basement remained.
He moved down the hall, to a door at the end. A cold draft moved through the house when he opened the door, chilling the sweat on his brow. Again, he took a deep breath, obtaining the courage he needed, then he walked down the stairs to the basement.
The stairs were dark; he nearly tripped and fell twice. He found no light switch, until he reached the bottom of the stairs.
Standing at the bottom of the steps, he flipped up the switch. The sudden, harsh change of the lighting caused him to quickly close his eyes before moving on. What was once black and hidden, was now revealed to him for the first time. He almost gasped when he saw what lined the basement walls.
Covering the basement, were clippings of newspapers and pictures of various people and locations. Radner moved closer to read the articles.
"InGen Goes Bankrupt, Seeks Overseas Support"
A picture of John Hammond sitting in a board meeting.
"InGen Admits to Withholding Evidence Pertaining to the Deaths of 5 People"
A picture of Henry Wu inside a laboratory.
"Dr. Alan Grant's New Theory On Raptors"
A picture of Alan Grant standing beside a skeleton of a velociraptor inside of a museum.
"Tyrannosaurus Rex Attacks San Diego!"
A picture of the large freighter, the S.S. Venture, in the wrecked harbor of San Diego.
"Dr. Ian Malcolm Presents 'At the Edge of Chaos'"
A small picture of Malcolm standing at a podium in front of a room full of students and colleagues.
"Dr. Ellie Degler Discovers New Species of Prehistoric Plant"
A picture of Ellie Degler in the harsh sun of a desert dig site.
Jonas Radner sighed, and looked away from the newspaper clippings and pictures, then turned his attention to the rest of the basement. There was a table in the middle of the basement, on it, was a rifle, a small brown box, long rolls of paper held together by rubber bands, and at the other end of the table, a note.
He walked to the table, and then hesitantly picked up the note. It was written in an eloquent handwriting.
Dear Agent Radner,
Oh, do not act so surprised. You did know I would be expecting you, didn't you? Of course you did. You're a smart boy, Jonas. I knew you'd be the one to come check out my place. I'm afraid I had to leave in a bit of a hurry, so excuse me for not tidying up the house a little bit more. Business, is business, you know?
I do hope you're finding what you had hoped you would find. I didn't want to disappoint you and make you think too hard, so I left a lot of what you'd be looking for, on this very table you are now standing at. Oh, and be a lad, and please deliver the box you see here to Hammond for me, would you? I would myself . . . but that's no longer in my power. Now is it?
Anyway, best wishes to you and your future ventures! I know we have not ever met, but I do feel that if we had, we could have had many good times. Oh, what stories we could tell. You know, Jonas, we have a lot in common, you and I. I would have loved to have heard the thoughts of an outsider like myself. But, wishing for such things is folly. Good luck on the case, Jonas. I'm sure you'll crack it wide open!
-- B.L.
Radner looked at the note for a long time, before finally putting it in a zip lock bag. Next, he moved to the rifle. It looked like any other normal rifle. Until closer inspection. There was a small blue InGen emblem on the butt of the rifle. Radner rubbed his thumb over the emblem, and then, turned to the rolled up paper, and the brown box. The paper rolls were about three feet long. He would get to them later.
He looked at the brown box. On it, there was writing; "To John. From your friend, Brock". Radner opened the box, inside was a VHS tape.
Sighing, he put the tape back in the box, and looked at his watch.
"Twelve thirty," he said aloud.
It was late. He had seen enough for today. He'd go through the house again in the morning. For now, he was going to go home. He'd look over some of the evidence there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Radner walked in the front door of his apartment at a little after one in the morning. He took off his jacket and threw it over a chair, then set down the brown box and the paper rolls at the coffee table in his living room. Next, he moved to the fireplace, and started a nice little fire. Once that was done, he went to the kitchen and took a drink out of the fridge.
Drink in hand, he returned to the living room. He took the tape out of the brown box, and put it in the VCR. He then sat down at the chair behind the coffee table, and opened the rolls of paper.
He wasn't all too surprised to see that the papers were in fact maps. Maps of Isla Sorna, to be more precise. Circles in red ink were made on one of the rivers that ran all the way through the island, and then another circle was placed on the volcano. A line of blue ink was made between the two circles.
Radner sighed, and looked away from the maps. He grabbed his VCR remote, and started the tape.
There was a blue screen, and then Brock Larson's face appeared.
"If you are watching this tape," Larson said on the tape, "then it is more than likely that I am already dead. But my death was not in vain. Oh no. Even in death, I have succeeded where you have failed . . . Nearly a decade ago, something very dear was taken from me. Stolen from my life, my soul, my very being, was the one thing, the only thing that showed me I had a reason to live in this cruel world. As I spent my time in those drafty white walls of the hospital, I prayed. I used to pray for answers. I used to pray for protection. I used to pray that God would please show me a sign, that in the end, everything would be okay . . . . No one ever answered my prayers. And so, I asked the Devil for a favor.
"It was then that I realized I did have something left to live for. I had to live for Suzan. My lost love deserved vengeance. I was determined to get it." Larson smiled and winked on the screen. "I bet you wondered, didn't you John? I bet you wondered, 'when is Larson going to come after me?' That thought scared you, didn't it? Don't lie to me, John. You can't lie to a dead man. You were scared out of your mind, you were jumping at shadows, you were pushing your poor little weak heart to the edge, all because you thought that for certain, big bad Brock was going to come and get you in your sleep. Or maybe that thought simply never crossed your mind, but I like to think otherwise. In either case, I would never do that John. We're old pals, you and me. Killing you like that wouldn't be . . . good enough for me. I know of your dreams, John. You've told me them countless times in the past. Any person, who didn't know what a sick bastard you were, would think that you had Alzheimer's or something, what with the way you just went on and on and on about seeing the little kids smile with delight. Everyday! Every-goddamn-day, you told everyone how that was the sole reason that you built Jurassic Park. And you know what? I believe you. Yeah. Because in my eye, having you die a slow pitiful death, knowing that you never accomplished your life's goals just means so much to me . . . I have to smile. When you take your last agonizing breath, and your life passes before your eyes, and you see how bad of a sick pitiful human being you are . . . the heavens will smile down, because they know you only deserve the right to visit hell.
"For me though, I got what I wanted. Grant, Malcolm, Degler . . . they're all dead now. For ten years, my life has been consumed by the undying need for retribution. For what I did, I know I will never have another day of peace in my entire afterlife. The gates of hell are the only things that will welcome me from now on. But, Suzan was avenged. The mission of my life has now been completed. And I wouldn't change a thing."
Larson smiled and leaned in closer to the camera. "See you later, John. We're going to have a hell of a time. Oh, and do me a favor, John, before you pass out. Call up Agent Radner and tell him to look under the floorboards underneath the table in the basement. Thanks. See ya . . ."
The tape ended.
Radner sat still for a moment, tapping the cassette's box against his knee. Then he sat forward, and ejected the tape from the VCR and stood up with it in his hand.
He began to pace the room, waving the tape in his hand, thinking.
He looked at the tape's box. "To John. From your friend, Brock."
Larson had said in the tape, that Malcolm, Degler, and Grant had all been killed. Radner knew this to not be true. Alan Grant was visiting his newly-found son with the reporter, Leah Owens. Ian Malcolm was back to his old life, back to telling how others are wrong and how he is always right, and in the background, trying to patch up a struggling marriage.
Degler though.
Larson had won that battle.
He looked at the tape in his hands again. Then closed his eyes as he tossed it into the fireplace. The smoke from the melting plastic smelled horrible . . . but he smiled.
It had been more than a decade since this had all began. Over the years, many had lost their lives. Some died looking for answers, while others died looking for an escape. Now, it was nearing its final chapter.
And he was going to see it through to the very end.
Rubbing his tired eyes with the palms of his hands, Radner walked over to his jacket, and slung it over his shoulder.
Within moments he was in his car, and on his way back over to Larson's house. The streets were all but deserted, allowing him to drive as fast as he wished.
Upon reaching Larson's house, he quickly made his way inside, and then down to the basement.
He stared at the table in the middle of the basement, and the wooden floorboards beneath it. He thought for a moment about calling it a night and having someone help him with this tomorrow. But after a moment of self-composure, he pushed away his fears.
He walked over to one side of the table, then grunted as he pulled it across the wooden floor. Once he had moved it far enough away, he walked to where it had previously been. The floorboards there were elevated slightly, in comparison to the other boards in the basement. The nails were also silver, unlike the other nails which were rusted brown.
Radner looked around really quick, trying to find a hammer or something to pry out the nails from the boards. There was none. He frowned and took out his pocketknife, then got down on his knees.
He stuck the blade under one of the silver nails, and tried to raise it out. It didn't budge. Sighing, he moved onto another nail, but it too did not move from its place in the wood.
Radner stood up again, looking around for something else to remove the boards with.
His eyes landed upon the rifle that still lay across the top of the table.
Smiling, he walked to the table and retrieved the rifle. He moved back to the floorboards, then standing over them, he brought the butt of the rifle down as hard as he could.
With a loud bang, one of the boards splintered, snapping in the middle. He moved to the others, and in quick succession, broke the four remaining boards that had once been hidden beneath the table.
Setting the rifle aside, he pulled a flashlight from his jacket. Shining the light down into the darkness beneath the floor, he suddenly gasped at the horrendous smell emanating from below him.
Knowing what to expect before his eyes ever saw it, he moved the light around until it shined over a pair of dirty trousers. Blinking away dust, Radner slowly moved the light up from the trousers, until he could see the man's entire body.
His face was stiff, and already beginning to take on a pasty green color. His white tee-shirt had been stained red in two places where bullets had rocketed through him. Judging by the man's current state of decomposition, and by the temperature beneath the floor, Radner determined that he had probably only been dead for about two weeks or so.
Even so, Radner could recognize the man's face. Arthur Avery. Once a geneticist for InGen who worked on staff at Isla Nublar, Avery had since gone into teaching science to high school students. Radner had read his file, though. Avery had gone missing about two and a half weeks ago, after going on vacation and never returning.
Avery had been the one that escorted Larson out of the hospital, and helped put him back on his feet again. Hell of a way to thank a guy, he mused.
He grimaced slightly, knowing what he had to do. Putting his arms at both sides of the hole in the floor, he slowly lowered himself down beneath the floorboards.
It was believed that Avery had important incriminating documents that proved wrongdoing within the US government. When agents were sent to try and contact him at his work place, it was found that he had mysteriously vanished. Taking advantage of his absence, his house had been searched easily, but nothing was ever found. So, everyone figured that Avery must have been carrying the documents on him when he disappeared -- which only caused more panic, and made locating him all the more important.
Radner put on a pair of latex gloves, and then got down on his knees next to the dead body. Perhaps Avery hadn't been running after all. Maybe he just met up with Larson for a cup of coffee, and that was that.
The stench was much stronger the closer he got. Avery had been wearing a tan suit jacket, which was now unbuttoned. He tilted his head to the side when he noticed the red handkerchief in the front breast pocket. He reached forward and removed the handkerchief. It was red on one side, while white on the other. He realized slowly that it was stained with blood. He frowned and put it in a plastic bag.
Sighing, he leaned forward and reached into the trouser pockets. He felt around and found a handful of loose change, the prickly feel of dozens of overcrowded keys on a little key chain, a pen, and an odd plastic container. His brow creased and he removed the plastic container from the pocket.
Dental floss. He smirked and set it aside.
Next he moved to the pockets within the lining of the jacket. There was a golden money clip full of twenties, and a small piece of folded paper. He unfolded the paper and realized it had writing on one side. It was the same handwriting that had been on the note from earlier.
Friends are hard to come by. I have no friends. It's too bad Arthur didn't realize this until it was a tad too late, the note read. He folded the paper again, and set it aside
Radner closed his eyes and sat back, wiping the sweat from his brow as he tried to control his nervousness. The papers he was looking for weren't here. It was possible that Avery never had them in the first place. The search would continue, however. Avery was done, but someone else had what they were looking for. And in time they were bound to find it. He took another deep breath, then slowly pulled himself out of the hole.
Getting back to his feet again, he looked back down at the body below him in the darkness. So much blood had already been shed on Larson's account. But now he was gone and he couldn't hurt anyone ever again. But Radner knew that the death would not end with Larson. There were still many questions left unanswered. And as long as there was still someone who sought to know the truth, the death toll would continue to rise.
It wasn't over yet.
Thanks for reading! As always, comments are wonderful so if you have the time, please don't hesitate. :)
Kyle (JPJunkee) note: It was about a year ago now that my first fanfic, Shadows of History was initially posted. And I had kind of set up the ending so it would possibly lead to a sequel. In time, SoH really became the first part of what would one day be a trilogy. In posting SoH, Yvonne was kind enough to guide me along the way, editing the story and offer helpful ideas for the plot and such. When SoH was nearing completion, I started to think of ideas for the sequel. And I thought I might as well just take the chance and ask Yvonne if she was up to possibly co-writing the sequel with me. And to my utmost surprise, she said yes she would. And now, here we are, over two hundred pages and almost ten months later, and the story is finally completed. And I'd like to thank you, Yvonne! You've really taught me quite a few things here and there and everywhere in between. Writing the story with you was one of the more interesting, entertaining, and creative things I've ever been a part of. But more than anything else, over the course of the story, you really became a really good friend of mine, and I hope that lasts for a very long time to come. . . . So thanks a lot for agreeing to help little ol' me on this story, hehe. The time spent writing and posting this story over the months proved to be quite fun but also a pretty cool learning experience. Nearly countless hours and many late nights were spent on the production of this story, and while we primarily wrote it for ourselves, it was also very nice to hear from you, the readers. Some of you guys really did help out a great deal, and we'd like to take the time to thank you now!
Drucifer67 -- You're probably the most prominent voice of all our readers, James. Being that you read and commented on every posting, and your comments were not only encouraging, but also quite helpful. You also helped by just being a friend and making either of us laugh or by helping guide us with some of your own writer's wisdom! And the fact that you took the time to find errors, and then email them to us is very much appreciated. And a good amount of some of the recent new readers has to do with the spotlight thread you made about a month ago, very unexpected, but a very nice gesture! So anyway, thanks a lot, James.
SamNeillFan -- Having you read over the stages, offer your own comments, and then send it back to us has been one of the most helpful things! We always look forward to reading your insightful and comical comments in blue! You're also a whiz with graphics programs and we can't thank you enough for the DoR artwork you've provided. Muchly appreciated! Special Yvonne note: Liz, you've supported all of my stories here since the beginning and I can't begin to thank you enough for your kind words along the way. You've become a very good friend of mine and I hope we remain friends for a long time to come.
MartinRandle -- Martin, you've been such an encouragement to us. A lot of these things were already mentioned in the Stage 19 comments, but it needs to be repeated here. You've commented on nearly every stage and we're very happy that you took time out from your busy schedule to read something that was posted in chapters over a long period of time. Knowing how you don't like to read that way, we're beyond happy that you commented along the way like you did. And the comments themselves were very helpful. You are a very important voice to writers in training, even when you might not like something.
AlanGrant5 -- You're one of the site's finest authors, and knowing that you hold this story in such high esteem means a lot. You also took the time to do a review before the story was ever posted, and coupled with your FanFic Awards in August, you've had a lot to do with readership. Thanks a great deal, Devin. :)
Cheri -- No one at Dan's knows Cheri, but she is Yvonne's neighbor and has been extremely helpful. She's been Yvonne's editor of sorts since the very beginning, and she also edited portions of DoR. But since Yvonne was too lazy to print out DoR for Cheri to read ahead of time, a lot of her edits came after the fact. But that's okay, because we had James, who was in essence, editor # 2. hehe. So thanks Cheri!
And now a list of all the other readers (in alphabetical order!). Thanks everybody! The mere fact that you took the time to read any of the story does mean a whole lot to us.
Amber -- You seemed to have dropped the story, somewhere along the way. But the comments you left on the parts you read were much appreciated, thanks Amber.
Angel_89 -- We know you said you sometimes read without commenting. Are you doing that now? Stealthy Angel? Hellooooooo? Hehe. Thanks for reading! :)
Ben -- You started reading the story at Stage Seventeen! . . . Kind of skipped a little bit, hehe. Hopefully you'll find the time to read through the rest of the story someday!
Carnotaur3 -- You dropped in every once and a while to offer your thoughts. And while you weren't always pleased with what you had read, we thank you anyway! :)
Crisco -- You've been there since the beginning and it's been great to see what you thought of the story along the way.
dark hunter -- Our Aussie buddy! You kind of stopped reading for about a month or two, but then made up for lost time within two days. You're always a great reader to have. Thank you very much!
EvilGrinch -- You left quite possibly one of the funniest comments. You started reading the story late, but that's okay, it's always nice to pick up new readers later on! Thanks a lot!
HBK -- You only read the intro, but hopefully you'll consider finishing the rest someday!
Illiteration -- Thanks for reading what you did! . . . Which wasn't a lot so we don't thank you a whole lot either! So, if you should happen to read more .... we'll edit the thank you's! :-D
JPfan4life -- You started commenting on the story later on as well, but you also became one of the most loyal and eager readers very quickly. Thanks a lot!
Jmock5 -- Being that you were one of the biggest readers of Shadows of History there was hope that you would really like the sequel too. Sadly, you seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth! But thanks for reading!
Jurassiclaw -- Thanks for the detailed and heavyhanded review.
KMAIMASTER! -- While you only read Stage One, you liked it, so thanks!
Mr. Camel -- You're not much one for detailed comments, but you've been a consistent reader and we thank you greatly!
Neelis -- Another reader who read the earliest stuff, and then disappeared. Thanks for reading what you did, anyway.
Paleeoguy -- You're what Kyle likes to call a poofer! POOFER! Read the first bit, like it a lot, say you'll read more, then POOF! POOFER! Thanks.
Parasaur.w -- Another very fine writer of the site. You jumped into the middle to see what the story was all about. Thanks for reading that one part, and here's to hoping you continue the story someday!
Seth Rex -- Thanks for reading. :)
Sinornis -- There were a few occasions where we turned to you for help on dinosaur facts and stuff. Thanks for the help!
SpinoMonkey -- Thanks!
Spinorextor -- Rob! One of our favorite readers! Shame you seemed to have stopped reading as of late, but we thank you very much anyway. Your readership is always greatly appreciated.
Strider_Aragorn -- POOFER!!!!!! (see Paleeoguy) Thanks.
Troodontid -- Thanks for sticking with the story through all this time!
Vito_The_White -- Always one to leave some of the most detailed comments. Thanks Vito.
Again, thank you everybody! Next year, we will be posting the sequel to this, and the last installment of the trilogy. If you'd like a sneak peek as to what we've got planned, click HERE for a trailer. We hope to see you all then!
--JPJunkee and Yvonne!
11/22/2003 2:01:32 AM
(Updated: 11/22/2003 2:03:20 AM)
(Updated: 11/29/2003 2:17:13 AM)
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