Titan

The History of Tim Steele

A long forgotten sense ran up the back of Tim Steele's neck when he answered the phone. He had not felt the dull hum in his bones for a long time. It came to him like a memory he didn't know he had forgotten.

The sounds of the people and the office around him faded to no more than a whisper. He dropped what he had been doing and his hand snapped to the phone on his hip. The pencil with which he had been sketching designs remained gripped in his other hand.

"Hoffman and Bond, this is Tim."

"Is this Mr. Timothy Steele?"

"Yep, this is Tim."

"Sir, my name is Sergeant Tom Renik with the Alexandria PD..."

"Sorry, Officer, but I don't have anything to donate at this time." Tim didn't know why he said it, but he hoped that if he willed the caller to be nothing more than a solicitor then it would be so.

"Uh... no, sir, Mr. Steele, I'm calling about your son. His name is Eric Steele, s'that correct?"

The warning buzzing in his bones whistled in his head now. A cop would only be calling about Eric if he was in trouble or in trouble. Something approaching vulnerability crept into Tim's voice—a rare thing, indeed. "Eric's my son."

"Mr. Steele, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your son was rushed to the emergency room about twenty minutes ago."

Tim let the pencil he'd been working with drop onto his desk and he adjusted himself straighter in his chair. He couldn't get comfortable. A lump of black dread settled into his gut. He could only think to say, "When? Where? What hospital?"

The officer gave the name of the hospital and said, "It looks like Eric collapsed on Duke Street. Some kind folks found him and called an ambulance."

Tim was now standing, but he didn't remember getting up. His hand was tight around the phone and the other pressed on the desk surface. The wood creaked under his weight. He pushed off and headed for the corridor, towards the exit.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Well, we're not exactly sure. He collapsed and was unconscious. Witnesses said it looked like he was... smoking."

A nervous laugh escaped, but Tim didn't remember thinking anything was particularly funny. "That's ridiculous, Eric doesn't smoke."

"Oh... no, sir, I'm sorry. You misunderstand. His body was smoking. Like he'd caught on fire... but there were no burns. Some guy burned his hand. We're still trying to work it out."

Tim's throat locked and he stopped walking. Every movement ceased and all of his strength went into making his lips move. "His body was smoking. But no burns? Like it was coming from the inside?"

"Yeah, that's a good way t'put it. S'what the witnesses said. Like he had a real bad fever."

The lump in Tim's stomach grew until he felt like he couldn't breathe. What the cop was saying could only mean one thing, but... it wasn't possible.

Was it?

Tim didn't know, but his son was in the hospital. That single thought pushed him forward and Tim could move again. He headed for the door and patted his pockets to make sure he had his keys. He snatched them off of his belt loop and launched outside into the sharp late winter air.

The officer gave Tim some additional information, which he didn't quite hear. The moment he hung up with the cop, he dialed Nancy. This was going to send her into a tizzy, but he had to tell her.