September 21, 1857

    "Don't do it Errol.  We will find a better way, just give me the damn pistol," said Jester, holding an open palm outstretched toward his assistant. 

    He was peripherally aware of how hard his hand shook as he held it extended over the campfire, yet there was nothing Jester could do to calm the shaking. Weeks of travel on horseback had left it calloused and rough with dirt trapped deep in the creases and caked under his nails, and in that moment, in the contrasting light cast by the fathomless shadows of night as it fought for dominance over the glow cast by the flames, it was as if that hand belonged to another man.  The limb of an old, weak man.

    Errol Kross stood trembling on the opposite side of that campfire; his deep ebony skin sheathed in perspiration and frosted grey by the prairie dust carried on the cool, swirling night breeze.  In his right hand, he held Jester's Colt Navy Revolver, the muzzle pressed against his temple, hammer cocked, his finger on the trigger. 

    Subtly visible to Jester in the light of the flickering flames was the navy battle scene depicting the victory of the Second Texas Navy at the Battle of Campeche etched around the cylinder of the revolver.  He had won the weapon five years earlier in a card game in New Orleans and it had saved both their lives numerous times since.  Not once had Jester imagined Errol might use it to take his own life.

    In Errol's left hand he clutched the black rock that now seemingly sealed his fate.  Jester wanted to think that, had he known their search for the rock would lead them to that moment, he never would have pursued it, but he knew that would be a lie.  Searching out the marvels and mysteries of the natural world was more than his occupation, it was his passion.  It was what he lived for.  It was also the reason Errol may die.

    Two weeks earlier they had been on their way home to Iowa City when some information had come to Jester's attention.  While taking a respite at the Pacific House Hotel in Council Bluffs, Jester encountered a traveler from the east who in passing had mentioned seeing fire falling from the sky.  Jester, being a man of science--Professor of Planetary Sciences to be exact--had invited the traveler to join him for a whiskey at The Spur and Saddle to share what he had seen.  The traveler accepted eagerly and it wasn't long before they were seated at the bar with the entire saloon breathlessly listening to the traveler's tale unfold.

    "And when that blazing light ripped across the sky like a bolt from Zeus' own hand," the traveler said sweeping his raised arm from right to left to illustrate the path the fireball took as it passed overhead, "why everyone stopped what they was doin' and stared skyward; their jaws gapin' open like they'd bin unhinged.  Every set of eyes tracked that ball of fire as if it was the sign of Armageddon--except ol' Hubert Lumps of course, being he only has the one eye left after his run in with the saloon owner's daughter.  Or rather, his run in with the broomstick she shoved into his eye after Hubert tried to get too friendly with her.  But the one eye he has was wide in terror just like the rest of us."  He tossed back a shot of whiskey then nudged the glass away.

    "And then what happened?" asked Jester, seated to the traveler's right, his whiskey untouched. He was as rapt by the tale as the rest of the crowd that pressed ever closer and seemed to grow with every swing of the saloon door.  The air around them grew thick with the aroma of whiskey on warm breath and the stink of sweat and horses.

    "Chaos of course," continued the traveler, still licking the last of the whiskey from his lips.  

    Jester slid his own shot glass across the scared wooden surface of bar top and urged the traveler to continue.

    "Women an' children were screamin' as they ran for their homes, and the men who didn't have kinfolk to tend to were trying to figure out what should be done about it all.  It seemed all of Dubuque was running in the streets.  All that came to a stop again a few heartbeats later though." 

    The traveler paused again to drain the glass.  This time the bartender refilled it automatically, like a toll he was required to pay if he wanted the peepshow to continue.  A coin had to go in the slot before this curtain would arise again.  

    "From the north a mighty explosion shook the ground and again the sky was alight with an unearthly glow," the traveler continued.  "It was like a second sunset, only in the wrong direction."

    "Then what did you do?" called out one of the inebriated barflies who had gathered to hear the tale.

    The traveler drained his glass a third time then slammed it down on the bar a little too hard.  The few remaining drops of whiskey that had clung to the glass splashed out onto the scarred wood surface.  From the look on the barkeep's face, Jester could tell there would be no more free refills in the traveler's future.

    "Why, I got the hell outta Dodge.  Or Dubuque, rather.  Any sane man woulda.  I figure, if the world is gonna end, then I want to go out with my hands and pockets filled with gold.  So I packed up and started heading west."

    Jester, believing he had as many relevant details as he was going to get out of the man, stood and made his way through the crowd to the door.  Returning to his room, he immediately packed his bag, fetched Errol, and the two men set off across the great state of Iowa to discover what exactly the traveler had seen.  

    Countless days, hundreds of miles and dozens of interviews with locals led them to their prize.  When they finally came upon it, it sat in its hole still burning brightly.  To Errol it was just a rock, but Jester, as he had listened to the traveler's description of events days before, had already identified it as a meteorite.

    However, that meteorite turned out to be much more.  

    "There ain't no other way Doc.  You knows that," Errol said, his voice ragged and strained as the rock's sharp, jagged edges bit deeply into the flesh of his left hand, drawing blood.  

    The two men looked at each other across the fire.  Between them, the burning wood crackled sending embers fleeing upward into the moonless sky.  The same breeze that covered both men with dust pulled the flames into an intricate dance; one moment pressing the fire to the wood, threatening to blow it out, the next pulling it into tall licks of orange.  It swept the acrid smoke out into the darkness and replaced it with the fresh grassy scent of the open plains.

    The horses hitched nearby naiad and chuffed, stomping their hooves and pulling at their tethers.  It seemed to Jester as if they already knew how this was going to end and had no wish to bear witness.

    "There is always another way my friend.  After the last 15 years and all the things we have been through, you must have learned that at the very least," Jester said.

    "We bin family, you 'n I.  When you done buy me from Masta Beaucannon..."  Errol's eyes teemed with tears.  "Remember that night in 'uisiana Doc?  I done thought to myself, 'Lord above, thank you.'  Any things gots to be bedda then that man an his leather switch."  A smile touched Errol's quivering lips then.  "But you done freed me!  Took me outta the South 'n gaves me a real job... 'n paid me too.  You gaves me a chance atta real life.  One I'd thought I'd neva' get."

    "I remember that night Errol.  I'll never forget it," said Jester, his voice catching in his throat.  "And I want to see you live for many years more.  I want to see the grand, happy family Emmaline keeps dreaming about for you both.  I want to see you reach the potential I know you are capable of, just put down the pistol.  Please."

    "The greatest gift you gaves me, was the faith you hads in me.  In Heav'n I'll tell 'em how you done made a free man outta me Doc."  The tears finally broke free of Errol's eyes and streaked down his cheeks, dripping from his chin onto the front of his checkered shirt.  "I'll tell 'em how you gaves me wings."

    "You just have to fight it for a little while longer, Errol.  By afternoon tomorrow, we will be in Iowa City.  Our friends at the University there can help us, but you have to fight the bastard!"

    Weakly shaking his head Errol said, "Jus'n remember, don't you touch it."  He held the meteorite up in the firelight where its sharp black surface blazed like the wicked teeth of a demon's smile.  Blood stained the cuff of Errol's shirt and the side of his tan coveralls.  It dripped to the hard-packed earth in fat red droplets, pooling until slowly being absorbed into the thirsty ground.

    "No matters what you see.  No matters what the devil shows ya.  Don't you touch it.  Promise me, Doc."

    Jester tried frantically to think of another way out of the situation, one that would preserve Errol's life.  "Errol, we can tie you up so he can't hurt anyone.  Give me a chance to free you from this as well."

    "Tell Emmaline I loves her."

    The crack of the pistol rolled out into the night as Errol's body crumpled to the ground. 

    The horses, spooked by the gunfire, whinnied and jostled in the darkness as Jester sunk to his knees.  He held his face in his hands and wept.  When no more tears could flow from his swollen eyes Jester crawled around the campfire to Errol's prone body. 

    The young man's eyes stared sightlessly at the canopy of stars above him.  A gaping hole marred the right side of his head where the lead round had entered.  The left side hung ragged, a mess of blood, flesh, bone and brain where it had exited.

    "You heroic fool.  The Lord should be honored to have you back at his side."  Jester said, closing Errol's eyelids and removing the revolver from his limp hand.

    The meteorite that had lit up the sky and tempted them on that last adventure together now lay in the dirt just beyond Errol's lifeless fingers.  At first glance it was a simple rock, shiny black and sharp to the touch, but it had delivered a monster into their midst.

    A monster Jester could not allow escape again.

    Heeding Errol's final warning he retrieved a sac and spade from the packhorse and, careful not to touch the vile rock, he slipped it into the bag and out of sight.  Drawstring tied tight.

    "I promise you Errol.  I will find a way to keep him caged."

    Then Jester set to digging Errol a grave.

#

September 22, 1857--Iowa City

    The office of Professor Maxima La Roche was a small, dark cubbyhole of a space located on the fourth floor of the Natural Sciences Building at the University of Iowa.  It was so small that when Jester burst through the door with dirt and the smell of horse clinging heavily to him, the gust of dusty air and shock nearly blew Maxima from his chair and the glasses from his face.

    "J.P., what in the world?"

    "Max, I need your help."

    "Help learning how to knock?  You look ghastly and your stench is worse than normal by the way."

    Jester shook his head in frustration.  "My apologies for barging in.  I have a serious situation here and you are the only one I know who can help."

    Max stood, righting his glasses and adjusting his white smock, smoothing it over his robust midriff.  "Well what is it old man?"

    Jester held up the dirty burlap sack; the weight of the meteorite made it sag toward the floor.

    "You need my help with a sac?" said Max, looking at Jester over the top of his spectacles.

    Jester sighed deeply.  "Really Max, now is not the time to play at being obtuse."

    "Well J.P., I'm afraid if you came looking for a seer you will be quite disappointed."  With a dismissive wave he added, "Try San Francisco or New Orleans and remember to close the door behind you."

    "My apologies again dear friend.  The last few days have been trying," said Jester taking off his hat and wiping his sweaty brow with the forearm of his dusty jacket before opening the sac and carefully rolling the meteorite out onto the paper-littered desk. It's sharp barbs on its surface caught the sunlight shining in the office window and glittered coldly.

    "Don't touch it!" said Jester when Max reached down to pick it up.

    "J.P. what has gotten into you?" said Max, withdrawing his hand as if it had been slapped.

    "That," he said pointing at the meteorite, "is the single most dangerous object humans have ever had the misfortune of discovering.  And we have to find a way to protect the world from it."

    Redman's stomach sank when he heard the elevator doors chime open somewhere beyond the shelves behind him.  According to the laptop on the table before him, barely an hour had passed since he reported for work at the University of Iowa's main library, and already someone was coming to pester him.

    He knew exactly who it would be.

    Scanning the information displayed on the laptop's screen, he quickly rechecked the latest entries he had made into the library's new database.  Perhaps something there had prompted the visit.

    Nothing stood out.  

    Then he scanned the immediate area to make sure there were no items improperly placed.

    Spread out on the brightly lit table beyond the laptop laid the contents of an archive box.  Documents carefully sandwiched between layers of acid-free paper and artifacts marked with pale yellow tags kept company with smaller fragments enclosed in transparent bags and glass-lid boxes.  A tripod-mounted digital camera used to photograph each artifact hung suspended above the scene, its glass eye still gazing down upon the latest relic it had captured.

    Littering the floor around the table were other archive boxes stacked in piles of six.  They crowded around him, a silent audience anxious for its turn.  In the surrounding subterranean vault, hundreds of additional boxes sat on rows of floor to ceiling shelves, their contents waiting to be photographed and re-cataloged.

    Shielding his eyes from the bright light hanging over the worktable, he looked longingly at the gloomy isles that branched off in all directions.  The thought of hiding amid the maze of shelves tempted him, but the sound of shuffling footsteps drawing near doused that urge.

    "Mr. West?  Are you here?" asked a wispy feminine voice.

    "Here at the light table, Mrs. Duffy," said Redman as he raised his lanky body from the metal stool on which he had been perched.  "Where the hell else would I be?" he added, mumbling under his breath.

    A moment later, the petite, hunched figure of the head preservation librarian exited an isle to Redman's left.  Her short gray hair, coiffed in perfect curls pinned close to her head, reminded him of his first grade teacher.  As did the bifocals hanging by a silver chain around her neck.  Her skin resembled pale, aged parchment; delicate, dry and easily crumbled if she pursed her lips but a little tighter.

    "Why in the world do you insist on keeping it so dark down here Mr. West?  A body can't see two feet in front of her."

    "It's just a preference, Mrs. Duffy.  I'm able to concentrate at a higher degree and it allows for richer contrast in the photographs of each artifact," said Redman as he straightened the sleeves of his smock and pushed his glasses higher on his aquiline nose.

    "You just be sure those entries are made correctly.  The University isn't going to pay you to fix mistakes that never would have been made had you kept the lights on."

    He shifted from one foot to the other then back again. "Yes, Mrs. Duffy.  I know.  I won't let you down."

    "Best not."

    "Was there anything I could help you with today ma'am?"

    She dismissed him with a curt wave of her hand then selected an empty archive box from the floor nearby.  When she turned to leave she found him still standing there looking at her.  "Well don't you have work to do Mr. West?  And for heaven sakes, put a comb through that mop of hair.  It's disgraceful."

    "Y...yes, yes of course," he said, straightening his hair with both hands.  "Have a good day ma'am."

    She grunted in his direction then disappeared back the way she had come.  Redman didn't relax until he heard the elevator chime again and the doors slide shut.  

    Sinking back onto the stool, he sighed then swiveled around to face the laptop again.  With one last check of the final catalog number and associated images, he hit the enter key and closed his eyes.  

    Though the hum of the laptop and his own breathing were the only sounds, he strained to hear the vault beyond.  That volume of shear silence sang to him more sweetly than any choir ever could.  There, deep below the earth where no noise from the world above could penetrate, he finally felt at peace.  

    Several minutes passed before he reopened his eyes and stood again.  He slipped his hands into the white cotton gloves he kept tucked in his pocket then carefully packed the artifacts back into their box; affixing a new numbered sticker and bar-code on the outside.  The bar-code corresponded to a number in the new archive management system allowing for detailed computer searches of the collection from computer terminals located in the library above.  When complete, users would be able to view detailed photographs and scans of historic documents without the need to touch, and possibly damage, the items themselves.  It was a vast undertaking in which Redman took great pride.

    Carrying the box back to its place on the shelf, he quietly whistled a nameless tune.  It sounded disjointed and unmelodious even to his own ears.  Like his life, he thought, filled with awkward moments and strained relationships, one sour note against another.  A life spent in a whisper.  Alone in the dark was the only place he really preferred to be.

    "One less to do," he sighed sliding the box into place then taking the neighboring box and hauling it back to the table.  He grabbed his pen, and from the sepia label that hung peeling from the side of the box, copied the original handwritten catalog number onto a pad of paper.

    "What have we here?"  He blew the dust off the lid and flipped it open.

    Carefully, he lifted out an unusually heavy glass display case.  It contained a black rock, about the size of a baseball, set on a small stand.  Its surface, pitted and chipped, shone dully under the bright work light.  He placed it down on the table then removed the only other item in the box, an 8-inch by 10-inch brown leather satchel enclosed in a clear plastic pouch.  Neither held the latest generation of identification tags, only small handwritten notes made on the exterior of their protective housings; the rock identified as Meridian 1857, Dubuque, Iowa, and the name Dr. J. P. Hutchins, Meridian 1857, on the pouch.

    Redman took the pad with the scribbled catalog number and ran his finger down the original archive list.  The list, a typewriter-generated spreadsheet created in the 1970s during the days when the collection had first expanded into the subterranean vault below the University of Iowa's main library, was the University's only written account of every artifact housed there.  However, during the previous three months, as he matched box numbers with the original list, Redman had found numerous discrepancies.

    Frowning, he checked his scratchy writing against the number written on the side of the box then scanned the archive list again.

    "They missed you did they?"

    Pursing his thin lips, he considered going upstairs to find Mrs. Duffy.  If anyone knew anything about the box and its contents, it would be her.  It wouldn't surprise Redman if the prehistoric Mrs. Duffy had been the one who created the old list in the first place.  Her ironclad memory, he mused, was the second account of the University's archival assets.  Instead, he carefully slid the leather satchel out of its covering and opened the flap.

    Inside he found a stack of notes handwritten on raw hewn paper and loosely bound together into a journal.  Moisture from the leather had stained the top and bottom pages with an ocher cast making the upper and lowermost notes difficult, but not impossible to read.  Unlike other documents in the collection, these had not been stored with care.  Pages properly preserved with acid-free lining and stored so moisture and light would not damage the delicate fibers of the paper, lasted generations.  It was another indication that the pages had eluded previous preservationists.

    "Who the heck left you inside there?"

    Trying desperately not to damage the delicate paper he peeled the top sheet from the one below then read the title aloud, "Journal of Dr. Jester Prendergast Hutchins, Professor of Planetary Sciences, University of Iowa.  Personal account and findings associated with the 1857, Meridian meteorite impact on the Paleozoic Plateau, Dubuque, Iowa."

    Continuing to peel page from page Redman read Hutchins' description of the Meridian meteor shower, its parent comet, and the adventures he and his assistant experienced as they traveled across the great expanse of Iowa, talking to homesteaders and other travelers, until they finally found the piece of rock that had fallen from the sky.  North of the city of Dubuque in the rugged Driftless, an area of deeply carved river valleys dominated by the wide Mississippi, it had lain in a clearing of burnt shrubs and grass.

    "It glowed like the eye of Hades in its shallow grave," he read.

    Redman looked over at the cold cinder now walled within its box.  It stared back at him through the glass, its jagged surface reaching out.

    Squeezing his eyes shut Redman took a deep breath then looked at the rock again.  For a moment, he was sure he had seen a flicker of colored light orbit the equator of the sphere once then penetrate the surface and disappear within.  He stared at it, waiting for it to happen again.  Willing it to happen again.

    The rock remained as black and lifeless as the lump of coal it resembled.

    Then it occurred to him.

    He fished around in his pocket and withdrew a jingling set of keys.  Using the penknife he carried on his key-chain, Redman separated the glass housing from the base then tried to pull the meteorite from its stand.

    It stubbornly resisted.

    Wedging his knife between the bottom of the stand and the base, he slowly pried the two structures apart discovering the magnetized nature of the base in the process.  The magnetic force attracted and held the metal blade of his knife in a tight grip making the division difficult, but once the stand was detached, the rock fell effortlessly into his hand.

    He expected it to be heavy, accounting for the majority of the display case's mass, but instead the relatively lightweight stone rested easily in the palm of one hand.

    Stripping off his gloves, he slid his hands over the barbed exterior.  A familiar sensation surfaced. Assurance and protection, like the safety of holding his father's hand as a small boy.  Or at least the safety he would have felt had his father ever taken an interest in him.

    The question of why this rock had been attached to such a strong magnet flickered through his mind, but was then lost.  Instead, he pressed the rock to his chest, and with his eyes squeezed tightly shut he swayed, lost in an invisible tide.  It washed over him repeatedly, each time getting stronger until he became the wave.

    A grin spread across his lips.  When the stranger now in control of Redman's body opened his eyes, he looked down on the journal with scorn.

    He had to make sure his secret was safe.

    It took the remainder of the day to read the pages but by the end, he straightened up and took a long, deep breath, reveling in the feeling as his lungs expanded with air.  His entire body tingled.  The heat of his blood seared as it rushed through his veins and the steady thumping of the heart that pumped it to every cell was the drumming of a victory tattoo.

    "I am free at last Professor.  All your efforts were for naught because I am free at last.  And you and that miserable slave of yours are not here to stop me this time."

    He was prepared to take everything with him when a small prickle of warning danced across his scalp.  What a mistake that could be, nagged a voice in the back of his mind.  There was no guarantee that the woman named Duffy did not know about this box or its contents.  If she decided to review the day's work and found the box missing, there would be trouble.

    Flipping through the handwritten notes, he hastily removed several key pages documenting Hutchins' findings then photographed and sandwiched the rest between acid-free sheets as his host, Redman, would be expected to do.  He tucked the loose pages and the meteorite carefully into Redman's knapsack, and with disgust reassembled the display case wiping the label cleanly away then leaving it on a supply shelf nearby.

    Once the satchel and journal were back in the archive box--using the knowledge he now had access to in Redman's mind--he entered the updated contents into the cataloging system as if the satchel and documents were all he had found.

    When done, he powered down the laptop, placed the box back on the shelf, and quickly left for the night.

#

7:17 P.M.

    Ed pulled the front door open and took a step out onto the porch before the police had an opportunity to ring the bell.

    Every five minutes for the past hour he had been checking the street from the front window, calling Deirdre's cell phone, and waiting for her to arrive home.  Instead of seeing his wife, a dark colored Crown Victoria came to a stop at the curb.

    His skin chilled as a cold blanket of dread wrapped around him.  As Ed watched, two men exited the vehicle and walked toward his front gate. He moved toward the front door to greet them as a sense of numbness crept up the back of his neck; panic gripped his stomach and squeezed the air from his chest.  With every step toward the door, stomach acid rose higher into his esophagus and by the time he clutched the doorknob his hands, damp with sweat, shook.

    All he could think about was that morning.

    Before she had left for work, Deirdre had given him a deep lingering kiss, pressing her willowy body against his tall, lean frame.  As she ran her fingers through his hair then slid them down his chest to his hips she'd said, "Oh, just you wait until tonight.  I plan on coming home early in order to prepare a special meal in honor of our anniversary.  Three whole years and you're still as sexy as the first day we met."

    "I was six when we first met."

    "You were all man then, and you still are now," she said.

    "Let me show you just how much man you have on your hands."  He wanted to scoop her into his arms and carry her back upstairs, but she had spun out of his reach and through the front door.

    Rather than disappearing, she had turned back and given him a sultry look before adding, "And I promise you, dessert will be most memorable."

    He could still see the devilish twinkle in her bright blue eyes and that sly grin shaping her sensual lips as she arched an eyebrow and pulled the door closed between them.

    Now the only thing he wanted in the world was to be back in that moment.  To be able to pull the door open and stop her from leaving like he had considered doing at the time.

    The only thing he found on the other side of the door when he pulled it open were the surprised faces of the two plain-clothed police officers climbing his front steps.

    Both men came to a stop on the top step just shy of the door.  Their expressions had changed from surprised to an identical mix of somber authority that police must cultivate specifically for such visits, Ed thought.  Then the probable reason they were giving it to him sunk in and suddenly he had no interest in hearing what they had to say.

    After showing him their identification the one named Green spoke the words Ed knew would forever change his life.

    "Mr. Sever, I'm afraid there has been a collision involving your wife."

    Ed could feel his knees weaken and his hand slip from the doorknob as Green continued to speak.  Evidence of his non-Iowan origins the man's Brookline accent, diluted by distance, gave his words a softer quality. 

    "A truck collided with the taxi your wife was traveling in.  I'm sorry to inform you, she was pronounced dead upon arrival at Mercy Hospital."

    Ed collapsed, landing against the door frame then slid down into a crumpled position halfway out the door.  Both officers stepped forward, but were helpless to do anything.

    Wang, Green's partner, a tall man at least a decade younger than his counterpart, crouched down in front of Ed.  "We've apprehended the driver of the truck.  We arrested him for vehicular manslaughter along with a host of other charges.  He will pay for what he has done Mr. Sever."

    Wang asked him a question but Ed's mind had grown foggy.  He simply nodded without knowing what he had agreed to.  The officers continued to talk as his mind reeled, and he became very aware of the beating of his own heart.  It drummed in his ears drowning out the words they spoke.

    Eventually they managed to lift him back onto his feet and directed him into the house where they helped him on with his coat.  Ed barely registered what was happening as Green went around the house and shut off the lights in the living room and kitchen.  Wang had spotted Ed's wallet and keys on the table beside the door and tucked the wallet into Ed's coat pocket.

    Back outside they locked his front door and led him down the stairs to their car.  The two officers continued to speak, but all Ed really noticed was the darkness deepening around them.

    It was dusk, and the night unraveling before him would be the darkest of his life.

#

11:51 P.M.

    Devon Lott spread a wide plaid blanket onto the grass in Hubbard Park then stretched out on his back with his arms behind his head.

    Above him the stars glimmered against their infinite background, and somewhere in the darkness, well beyond his feet to the west, the Iowa River flowed southward without abate.  A warm late summer breeze, scented by the river and fields west of the city, tugged at his short-cropped hair.  It whispered through the grass as it rolled over his reclined body toward the Pentacrest--a collection of five buildings, which together comprised the heart of the University of Iowa--on the opposite side of North Madison Street.

    Devon smiled.  That day had been the most important to date in his career as an astronomer and for the first time since he had crawled out of bed that Monday morning he felt at ease.  He began to run through the day's events in his mind, the confirmation of his grant to collect and study samples of Meridian meteorites; all the arrangements he had to make; and the look on his fiancé's face when the news came in.  He knew she was proud of him--she said as much--but another unspoken emotion had lingered in her eyes...  The sound of footsteps coming toward him across the grass interrupted his moment of reflection. 

    Turning his head toward the approaching figure, he could tell who it was just by the angular silhouette and light-footed stride.  The headlights from a car turning left onto West Iowa Street confirmed it.

    Dangling from the figure's right hand was a square object, most likely a six-pack, and there was something bulky tucked under his left arm.

    Devon turned his attention back to the sky and smiled again.  A moment later, Ryan Kensington plopped down on the blanket beside him.

    "Hell yeah, I'm in," said Ryan as he pulled a can of beer off its plastic ring and handed it to Devon.  The other object he was carrying turned out to be two pillows, one of which he also handed over.  Cracking open a beer for himself and settling down on his back Ryan pushed his unruly blond hair from his forehead then turned his eyes upward into the night.

    "Are you sure?" said Devon.  "You have a Master's to finish, and even though the grant is a huge vote of confidence on the part of the University, this is a long shot at best."

    "Long shots have the best payoffs Doc.  And let's face it; I'm the best one for the job," he said, taking another drink.  "When was the last time those tightwads spent this much money on astronomy?  I'm so totally in."

    It wasn't until small streaks of light began appearing at uneven intervals across the sky that either of them spoke again.

    "Just tell me you really think there are still chunks up there big enough to make it," said Ryan, staring up at the sky.

    "Yeah I do."

    "We could be waiting years for one."

    "Yeah we could," Devon said.

    "Cool."

    In the moonlight, a lone male figure prowled out from under the veil of trees in Oak Grove Park and silently crept across Webster Street toward number 97.

    As he crossed the narrow strip of asphalt, he could feel the heat of the preceding day radiate upward through his black canvas pants despite the light breeze stirring the oppressive air.  To his ears, the chirping of crickets accented by the noises of dozens of other nocturnal animals going about their business up and down the block sounded like a symphony.  In the air, he could detect the fresh oxygen expelled by the trees and the fading odor of car exhaust.  Flowers, usually in full bloom in mid-September, wilted in the unusual heat releasing their thick perfume into the night.

    He found his way into the shadowed parking lot behind the five-story apartment building that was number 97 and crouched down against the wall.  In the building above, a few isolated lights twinkled out of rectangular openings suspended in the blackness.  The lit windows cast their patches of light down onto the parked cars below, but from what he could tell, none of the tenants within had witnessed his arrival and the cars before him were vacant.

    There was only one thing he was truly interested.  On the second floor, twenty feet directly above the spot in which he crouched, a white curtain fluttered lazily in and out through an open window.  Beyond that curtain lay more darkness, but not silence.  He could hear the deep breathing of the sleeping occupant and the rustle of sheets as she adjusted her position in bed.

    In the apartment above, a young woman named Ellie turned over in her dreams and kicked the sheet off her bare legs.  The evenings brought Iowa City little relief from the record-breaking temperatures, and she hadn't thought to pack her electric fan when she moved to town a few weeks earlier.

    By the time the fall semester started, no one expected a heat wave after all.  Back home in Pennsylvania the nights were cool enough to warrant a jacket, but here the summer wasn't ready to let go just yet.

    Until the heat broke, she would have to suffer through humid nights and bed sheets damp with perspiration.

    Below, the figure caught her scent and became excited.  The heat from her body radiated outward and wrapped around him.  The need for her became so great he could not wait another moment.  Pressing himself against the rough bricks, he closed his eyes and allowed his body to lift upward toward the open window.

#

12:32 A.M.

    "Are you ready Ry?" said Devon Lott as he rolled his chair across the scuffed white linoleum floor from one bank of computer monitors to another.  "The first meteors should begin striking the ionosphere any time now."

    "Got it..." said Ryan as he calibrated the university's radio telescope from his station on the other side of the astronomy lab.  "Data from the Voyeur III satellite should be coming across your monitors ...now."

    A stream of data flowed across the up-link and onto the lab's server where it would wait for closer examination later.  The university had paid NASA an exorbitant amount of money for use of a satellite through the duration of the 17-day meteor shower and Devon was not going to waste an instant of it.

    Rolling back across the floor, he squinted at the new feed from orbit, which now joined the others broadcast from numerous terrestrial-based spotting stations.  On the bottom of each screen, a small piece of masking tape indicated the origin of the vista displayed.

    He had the cooperation of six other U.S. universities, four Canadian, and eight across Europe and Asia along with two dozen local observation stations seeded across Iowa and the neighboring states.  Over the next 17 days, he would be able to see some portion of the night-side of the planet regardless of the hour on his wristwatch.

    For the time being, the skies were quiet.

    Devon rolled up the sleeves of his white cotton shirt and reached for his coffee cup before settling back in his chair.  Everything was in place, checked over multiple times.  They just had to wait a final few minutes as the earth began its transit through the debris.

    This night had been in the making since he had received grant approval a year earlier.  It had taken that long just to get time on a satellite, though it had also given him the opportunity to forge the worldwide relationships he would need to maximize his chances for success.

    Considering how tight academic institutions could be with funding it had been surprisingly easy to get so many parties to commit to the project at their own expense.  Then again, U of I was footing the biggest portion of the bill while they would share all discoveries equally.  The possibility of missing those discoveries would hold a price far higher than the few thousands it would cost to play a supporting role.

    There had been more politicking than Devon was accustomed to and all of it had put a strain on him.  He had been lean and fit a year earlier, yet he had somehow lost an additional 20 pounds, and his black hair now sported a hint of gray.  The biggest impact had been on his relationship with his fiancé, however.  In the midst of it all, she had left him for another man.  Someone who "knew she existed," she had said.  Nevertheless, he had endured and September 12 finally arrived.  With it came the beginning of the Meridian meteor shower.

    Compared to other meteor showers the Meridian wasn't very showy, although the particles hitting earth's atmosphere were among the oldest in the galaxy.  There had not been any confirmed modern day meteorite hits from the Meridian shower though the university's archival records did indicate a single strike over 150 years earlier.

    According to the notes of Professor Jester Prendergast Hutchins, witnesses stated that the night sky had "lit up like high noon" as a meteor streaked across it.  It had taken Hutchins and his assistant days to locate the meteorite afterward.  What he found he described in his notes as 'miraculous'. 

    The meteorite had apparently been able to retain its heat for many days afterward; however, Hutchins's notes became fragmented after he had made the discovery.  Countless pages had been lost over the years and those remaining were not as detailed as the ones penned earlier.  From what Devon could piece together the meteorite seemed to have other unusual properties Hutchins found difficult to explain, including some type of physiological effects on his assistant, a young man named Errol Kross.

    Based on those notes and the rest of the research he had conducted, Devon speculated that the Meridian meteorites' parent body had to be quite different from standard comets.  Unlike the typical rocky snowballs looping through our solar system, it must have contained rare minerals or alloys in order to leave behind a meteorite with the characteristics Hutchins had described.

    If its orbit was any indication, it was quite unusual.

    The comet, known as Aditi--named almost 600 years earlier by the adherents of Hinduism after the Goddess of the Sky--was a rare occurrence.  Only three times in recorded history had its arrival been documented, which meant its swing around the sun only happened once every 300 years; by far the longest orbit of any known comet.  There was no way to tell how far out it traveled during that time or what exotic particles it might have encountered along the way.  Nevertheless it was expected to return to our solar system in three years assuming it hadn't already escaped or been pushed from its trajectory.  In the meantime, the earth would continue to pass through its remaining trail of debris in mid-September each year.

    Their goal that night, and every night until the earth completed its journey through the comet's wide trail, was simple: to track any meteorites hitting the Earth and to retrieve them for study.  The properties mentioned by Hutchins alone could lead to any number of exciting discoveries, and his notes--what remained of them--had been crucial in bringing the other universities on board.

    Ryan scratched at the pale stubble on his chin and upper lip as he pulled his chair around to join Devon in front of the monitors.  Recently, he had been attempting to grow a beard of some kind, but Devon wasn't sure what style the young man was trying to achieve.  Over the past few weeks, he had also noticed Ryan gelling his normally shaggy blond hair into spiky disarray.  Devon was certain there was a woman involved in the makeover, but Ryan hadn't yet chosen to share any of the details.

    Turning his attention back to the monitors Devon leaned forward and put his mug down then folded his arms across his chest.  They had divvied up the screens so they each had the same number of night-side images to study.  Even with both sets of eyes keeping track of all the different feeds before them the task would be difficult, more so for Devon.

    He had not been willing to consider that his gradual onset of blurriness and difficulty reading small print might mean he required glasses.  Convinced it was simply the stress of the past year taking yet another toll and not his recent 44th birthday, he was certain the condition was temporary.

    "Are we recording all the visuals?" Devon asked without turning away from the monitors.

    After taking a drink from a big, white ceramic mug with the Hawkeyes' mascot Herky stamped around it repeatedly, Ryan nodded.  "We're rolling boss."

    "Now all we need is something that hasn't happened in over a century and a half to happen again."

#

4:55 A.M.

    Ed Sever half-jumped half-fell from the back of the pickup truck as it swung to the right and stopped with a skid.  Off balance, he stumbled along the gravel shoulder of Iowa Highway 1 in the moonlight, ultimately managing to stay on his feet.

    The six other men still seated on the bed of the truck howled and applauded his achievement over the country music blaring from the interior radio.  One of them threw an empty beer can in Ed's direction.  It missed and bounced along the pavement with the sound of hollow tin then rolled out into the middle of the road.

    "Fucking litter... bastards," Ed said. He staggered over to retrieve it then tossed it back toward the truck, nearly falling over from the effort.  It hit the side of the truck and bounced away again.

    With a honk and a spray of pebbles, the pickup pulled out onto the highway resuming its trip westward into the night, its remaining passengers laughing, cheering and singing in cacophony. 

    The taillights and thumping base soon faded into the distance leaving Ed standing there alone singing and swaying to the sounds of the jukebox in his head.

    "I've never been the kind that you'd call lucky.
    "Always stumbling' around in circles.
    "But I must have stumbled into something.
"Look at me."

    He spread his arms and looked up into the starry sky above. 

    "Some hearts...
    "They just get all the right breaks.
    "Some hearts have the stars on their side..."

    He continued to hum Carrie Underwood's "Some Hearts" off-key and at a fraction of the tempo as he made his way off the blacktop.  Sliding down the embankment beyond the gravel shoulder, he came up hard against a wire fence.  After a few uncoordinated attempts, he managed to climb up one side and fall over into the cornfield beyond.

    Laying there in the dark among the six-foot tall stalks he sang out,

"Now who'd have thought someone like you could love me.
"You're the last thing my heart expected."  

    Dragging himself up onto his feet, he dusted off his jeans and pushed his unshorn hair off his face.  After watching a massive 18-wheeler roar over the spot of highway where he had stood a moment earlier he lurched deeper into the ocean of corn.  It whispered around him and swayed in waves with the breeze as he continued his serenade.

    This wasn't the first time Ed had made his way through the cornfield.  Over the last year, he had managed to carve a permanent trail weaving from the highway, across the field to a narrow dirt service road that would in turn lead him to his parent's house about a mile and a bit to the north.  Jeff, driver of the pickup and Ed's brother-in-law, would have gladly dropped him off at the front gate; however, this was Ed's way of sneaking home without waking his parents.

    At 35, Ed wasn't worried about a reprimand.  He just wanted to avoid some of the reproachful glances he would receive when he finally sobered up and crawled out of bed.  Since moving back to the farm, he had been anything but a model son.  He wasn't proud of that, yet he was nowhere near sorry enough to do anything about it.  

    The psychiatrist he had visited before moving out of Iowa City--at the insistence of his mother--called his behavior clinical depression triggered by an extreme trauma, then prescribed mood-altering medications to help him through it.

    Ed knew what his problem was.  He was pissed off at the world, so he threw the prescription away, and never went back.

    A year earlier a truck driver, who had been behind the wheel for 23 hours straight, had killed his wife Deirdre.  To make matters worse, there were so many drugs in the trucker's system he didn't even realize he'd been in an accident.  It wasn't until the damaged radiator blew and overheated the engine that he finally stopped.  That was how the police found him; slumped over the steering wheel blocking another intersection miles away, steam rising from the crushed front grill. 

    The trucker received a sentence of 18 months in jail in addition to losing his license.  He subsequently lost his job.

    Ed lost his wife.

    Ed also eventually lost his job and his home at which point he had moved back in with his parents.  He took his old room and agreed to help around the farm, but spent most of his time hung-over.

    Staggering to a stop in the middle of the cornstalks, he sang up to the sky,

"They just get all the right breaks..."  

    He was vaguely aware of the growing ball of light heading toward him, but it hadn't registered through his drunken haze.  

"Some hearts have the stars on their side."

    The heat of the meteorite as it rocketed inches past his right shoulder set his jean jacket on fire, but the burning tail of debris caught Ed with full force.  He spun around covering his head with his hands but it was no use.  It burned through his clothing and seared his skin, and he found himself engulfed in bright swirling colors.  Seconds later, the force of the meteorite's impact lifted him off his feet and tossed him to the ground where he drifted into darkness.

#

5:02 A.M.

    "It was observation post IC-06 that recorded the impact," Ryan called out from across the lab.

    "Location?"  Devon could hear Ryan's urgent keystrokes as he looked up the data.

    "Shit boss... just west of town.  The damn thing landed right in our fucking backyard!"

    "I want a location Ryan."

    "IC-06 is near Windham facing southeast.  The approximate location of the impact is somewhere between Williamstown and Highway 1."

    Devon, still standing next to the bank of monitors, closed his eyes and considered their next move.  When he opened them again a minute later, Ryan was standing in front of him with a grin on his face.

    "I know that look Doc.  What do you want to do?"

    "Still have that police scanner of yours?"

    Ryan's grin turned into a full-blown smile as he turned and raced for the door.

#

5:36 A.M.

    "God Morgan, what is it?" asked Anna Sever as she jumped out of the truck after her husband.

    Dawn had not yet broken over the eastern horizon when the booming sound of a detonation had driven them from their bed.  Looking south out their bedroom window they could see a glow in the distance.

    Assuming it had been an accident out on the highway Morgan had called the Iowa State Patrol then the two of them headed out across the field to render assistance.  It wasn't until they got closer they realized the fire was in their field, not on the highway.

    They cut into the cornfield from the dirt service road they had followed from the house, slowly plowing down a swath of cornstalks as they went.  Then, 20 feet ahead, illuminated by the headlights of their truck and surrounded by burning cornstalks, they found a smoking crater lying open to the sky.  The earth around the impact site had been scorched and the crops blown outward.

    Exiting the truck Morgan strolled cautiously toward the edge of the hole kicking away the flaming cobs of corn strewn around the area.  Though the headlights at his back primarily lit his tall, strapping form, the burning stalks and predawn light cast an orange glow of their own.

    "Be careful," said Anna from the position she had taken at the front of the truck.

    As they rode out from the house, she had quickly woven her long, graying brown hair into the thick braid now hanging limply over her left shoulder.  In their rush to leave the house she had grabbed one of her husband's denim jackets instead of her own and the petite woman looked like she was about to drown in it. 

    "It might be radioactive or some such thing."

    "You've seen too many of those sci-fi shows," Morgan said, waving off her warning without turning around.

    "Well, you never know."

    He peered down into the hole.  "It's only a few feet deep... and the hole is tear-shaped.  Looks like it came in from the south."

    "What is it?  Downed satellite?"

    "No, it's just a meteorite.  The darn thing's still glowing hot."  He started to head back to the truck.  "Just part of the meteor shower we heard about on the news, I imagine."

    "Well that's a relief.  A stupid hunk of rock is far better than some top secret, high-tech, count-the-pimples-on-your-butt, spy satellite that..."  A noise in the field to her right stopped Anna in mid-sentence.  She spun around toward it and tried to see through the stalks to its source.

    Morgan noted the sudden change in his wife and quickened his pace towards her.  "What is it?"

    "There's something in here," Anna said then began pushing her way through the corn in the direction of the sound.

    "Probably a scared animal.  Be careful," Morgan said as he followed her in.  Then he heard it too.  It was a moan, without question.

    "That's no animal," said Anna pushing through the corn until she was upon it.  "It's a man..."  In the predawn light, she could just make out his face.  "Dear lord Morgan; it's Edwin!"

    She fell to her knees beside her son.  "Edwin, can you hear me?  Edwin, speak to me."

    Morgan negotiated through the cornstalks until he was able to get around to the other side.  "He's been burnt.  Help me get him to the truck."

    The two of them carried Ed through the corn and eased him into the back seat.

    Covering him with a spare blanket Anna tried to assess the damage quickly.  "His clothes are almost completely burnt off his body, but his skin isn't as badly injured as I expected it would be."  Pulling her hand away from his cheek, she rubbed her fingers together.  "There is some kind of gritty residue on him."

    "Residue?"  Morgan brushed his fingers across the skin on the back of Ed's left hand.  "You're right.  It's like fine sand."

    "Come on!"  Anna closed the rear door and jumping into the passenger seat.  "We've got to get him to the hospital."

    They made it as far as the house where they met up with a police car coming down their driveway in the opposite direction.  The two vehicles stopped alongside each other and the drivers rolled down their windows.

    "Hey, that wasn't an accident Morg, something came down in your cornfield," said Trooper John Corvine as he poked his balding head out the window of his cruiser and squinted up at Morgan through the dim dawn light.

    "John, we know.  We're heading to the hospital with Edwin.  He was out there when a meteorite hit the ground and he's hurt pretty bad."

    "Jesus!"  John flipped on his lights and siren and threw the car into gear.  "Follow me and stay close," he said before pulling a U-turn around the truck and leading them out onto the road.  

    It was usually a 20-minute trip to Mercy Hospital in downtown Iowa City, but with an escort, they made it there in 12.  When they arrived, the emergency staff, along with two uniformed officers from the Iowa City Police Department, stood outside waiting for them.  They rushed Ed in on a stretcher leaving Morgan and Anna behind with John Corvine, the local police, and the admitting nurse.

#

8:40 A.M.

    Detective Don Wang slid a tall paper coffee cup across the desk toward his partner, Andy Green, before retreating to his own chair and picking up his cell phone.  He punched a series of numbers on the key pad and held it to his ear.  "You look like you need that more than I do," he said as he waited for the other party to answer.

    Andy closed the file he had been reviewing since dawn and studied his partner who was now chatting cheerfully into the phone in Korean.  

    Don was fifteen years Andy's junior and where Andy was average height and compact, Don was tall and lean.  His black hair contrasted Andy's graying-blond and when it came to likes and dislikes, they were as different as two people could be, but somehow they just clicked.  They had been partners for six years, the last two as investigators assigned to the Criminal Investigations Section (CIS) of the Iowa City Police Department.  Before that, Don had been with the Iowa State Patrol from which he retained many of his more regimented idiosyncrasies.  

    Andy had also realized several years ago that Don had the enviable ability to put issues behind him once he had determined there was nothing left to do.  Andy was the polar opposite on that point as well.  He never forgot any of his failures, reaching back to the early days of his career in New York City, or in this instance, a case he hadn't been able to solve the previous year.

    During the 17-day period between September 12 and September 29, 17 women had been brutally murdered by a beast the media dubbed the Campus Killer.  With the city gripped by terror, single women were arming themselves or leaving town if they could.  Alarm system installations couldn't be completed fast enough, despite the fact that these measures didn't seem to matter.  The perpetrator always found a way in and never left a clue to his identity.

    Then it all suddenly stopped.  

    Andy thumbed the well-worn corner of the case file then reached for the coffee.  Don was right, he did need it more.  The problem was that cup of coffee was not going to make the gnawing feeling in his gut go away and he knew it.  

    Over the years he had developed a sixth sense when it came to trouble and for the past 12 hours it had been telling him something was terribly wrong.  The news simply hadn't made it to them yet.

#

10:23 A.M.

    Anna and Morgan had been huddling together in the waiting room at Mercy Hospital for hours.  Each time the door to the Intensive Care Unit opened, they hoped it would be someone coming to give them news on their son's condition.  Each time they had been disappointed.  Then, after countless cups of dispensing machine coffee, someone finally appeared with an update.

    "Mr. and Mrs. Sever?  I'm Doctor Bryan Ulsterman.  I've been tending to your son."  

    Ulsterman was a tall, wide, linebacker of a man in green scrubs with deep ebony skin and a resonating voice, yet his face was kind and his eyes sparkled with gentleness behind his half-moon glasses.  He was a work in contrasts that instilled confidence while assuring loved ones were being well cared for.

    Anna and Morgan both stood up to shake his hand, after which the doctor motioned for them both to sit back down.

    "Your son was exposed to an unusual form of ionizing radiation."  

    Anna gasped and buried her face in Morgan's shoulder.  

    "Because of the radiation he has sustained minor burns to virtually his entire body," said Ulsterman, "but they are minor and I do think he's going to be fine.

    "Early tests show only low level signs of radiation poisoning.  We're still waiting for some results to come in, but it looks like he didn't receive a large enough dose to do any serious damage. 

    "That said, there's no telling what will happen down the road as a result of this exposure, so regular checkups might be required after his release.  I'll have a better idea in a few days."

    Morgan kissed the top of Anna's head trying to comfort her.  "You mean cancer," he said.

    "Yes."

    "Can we see our son?" Morgan said.

    "He's still unconscious and we're keeping him under radiation protocols for now.  The best thing you two can do is to go home and get some rest.  If his condition changes, you will be notified immediately."

    Anna lifted her head and wiped away tears with the back of her hand.  "We can't just leave our son."

    "Ma'am it may be some time before he wakes up."

    "I don't want him to wake up alone," Anna said.

    Ulsterman nodded.  "I understand, but you won't be able to stay with him here in ICU, and he won't be moved into another room until tomorrow morning at the earliest.  So you see, you really are better off trying to get some rest before you return."  

    Reaching into the pants pocket of his scrubs he pulled a small, plastic-covered package of tissue paper and handed it to Anna.  "I promise your son won't be alone."

#

11:00 A.M.

    "I keep getting the answering machine.  Maybe we should just drive over there and take a look," said Ryan, holding his cell phone to his ear.  

    Devon was sitting in front of a lab computer composing an email to the department head about the morning's events.  It was something he had been putting off in the hopes they would have the meteorite by then, but it didn't look like that would happen before the end of the day.  

    "No trespassing Ry," said Devon shaking his head.  "All we need is a pissed-off farmer deciding he doesn't want to give us his shiny, new rock."  He clicked the send button then sat back.  "Just keep trying."

    That morning when Ryan had turned on his police scanner they overheard communication between the Iowa State Patrol dispatcher and one of their troopers.  A farmer named Morgan Sever had reported something burning on Highway 1, but according to the trooper, it wasn't a collision.  Something had crashed into the farmer's cornfield.

    Within seconds, Ryan found an address and stuck a big, red thumbtack into the huge map of Iowa decorating the wall of the astronomy lab.  This he followed with a few punches to the air and a resounding "Yes!"

    The news had not gotten any better for them since, however.  A few minutes after the initial communication, they heard the trooper inform dispatch he was escorting an injured party to Mercy Hospital emergency.  

    Whatever had happened out in that field had complicated their retrieval operation.  There was no telling when they would be able to gain access to the meteorite.

#

10:01 P.M.

    It was through a fog that Redman West turned over in bed and looked at the black meteorite sitting on his nightstand.  Wisps of color spiraled around it in the darkness, and from within, a small flicker of light sprang to life.  He reached out toward it, but his arm was too heavy for him to lift for more than a few moments.  

Then the whispers began flooding into his mind again.

The first time he had heard them had been a year ago, shortly after he had found the meteorite in the library archives.  Initially, he thought he was just hearing things--too much time spent at work and not enough sleep--so when they ceased two weeks later he did not pursue their cause.  He had soon forgotten about them completely, until they began again a few days ago.

    Something else had also started to reoccur.  

    Redman would wake up in the mornings without any clothes on after going to bed the previous night in pajamas.  

    Portions of his days started to go blank as well.  

    He had considered going to the doctor about his blackouts, but he just felt too good otherwise.  His stamina and vigor had tripled and he found he no longer needed to wear his glasses, a standard part of his attire since the age of six.  Whatever was happening to him he decided the benefits outweighed the risks.

    Finally, he managed to wrap his fingers around the meteorite's sharp surface, and with his last ounce of energy, he pulled it from the nightstand and onto his pillow.  

    Inches from his face, he could feel the energy it emitted.  The colors came toward his face and he fell into a deep sleep.  

    The eyes that opened a moment later shone with the meteorite's same internal glow.  He looked lovingly upon the rock then pressed his lips to its surface.