Chapter 7 Dr. Hensley
671 Words
Finding a man who didn't want to be found turned out to be harder than Alfred expected.
His grandfather worked the phone for two days straight, calling old university numbers that rang and rang, leaving messages nobody returned. On the third day, an email came back from a retired professor with a single line: Hensley left the university years ago. Try the science archive in Millbrook. Ask for the reading room.
They drove to Millbrook that Saturday, the THETA case locked safely in the trunk. The town was small, quiet, the kind of place where nothing seemed to happen fast — until they stepped into the archive and a woman at the front desk went pale at the mention of Hensley's name.
"Wait here," she said, and disappeared into the back.
Alfred glanced at his grandfather. "That's not a good sign."
"No," his grandfather agreed. "It isn't."
Ten minutes later, a thin, gray-haired man stepped out from behind a shelf of old journals, moving with the careful stiffness of someone who'd been sitting too long. He studied Alfred's face like he was reading a page.
"You have her eyes," he said quietly. "Katherine's eyes."
"You knew my mother," Alfred said.
"I knew both your parents. Better than most." Hensley's gaze flicked past them, toward the front door, wary. "You shouldn't have come here. Not out in the open like this."
"We didn't have a choice," his grandfather said. "Someone's already found us once."
Hensley's face tightened. "Cole."
"You know him?"
"I know what he works for." Hensley waved them toward the back room, urgent now. "Come. Quickly. We don't have long."
The back room was small, crowded with old filing cabinets and a single desk buried under papers. Hensley shut the door and lowered his voice.
"Your parents were close to a breakthrough," he said, "and breakthroughs like that don't stay quiet. Not from people who want to use them for the wrong reasons."
"What breakthrough?" Alfred asked.
"A way to predict outcomes before they happen. Real ones. Not guesses." Hensley's eyes were sharp despite his age. "Imagine knowing which patterns lead to disaster, days or weeks before anyone else could see it coming. Now imagine what a person could do with that, if their goals weren't exactly noble."
Alfred's stomach turned. "That's what Cole wants."
"That's what the people Cole works for want. Cole's just the one who does the knocking on doors." Hensley moved to one of the filing cabinets, fingers trembling slightly as he worked the lock. "Your parents refused to hand it over. So they vanished, and took the last working pieces of it with them, all except—"
He froze.
Footsteps, outside the door. More than one set. Unhurried. Familiar.
Hensley's face went ash-white. "He followed you."
"He couldn't have," Alfred's grandfather said, but his voice wavered.
"He always follows," Hensley whispered. "That's what he does."
The footsteps stopped right outside the door. A pause. Then a familiar voice, calm as ever, almost gentle.
"Dr. Hensley. It's been a long time."
Hensley grabbed a small drive from the open cabinet and pressed it into Alfred's hand, closing his fingers around it fast and tight. "Whatever happens next," he said, low and urgent, "you keep that safe. Do you understand me? No matter what."
"What is it?"
"The last piece. The one they never finished." Hensley's eyes darted to the door. "Go. There's a back exit, past the archive shelves. Run."
"We're not leaving you," Alfred's grandfather said.
"You don't have a choice." Hensley was already moving toward the door, putting himself between it and the boy. "Go. Now."
The door handle turned.
Alfred's grandfather grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the back of the room, toward a narrow door half-hidden behind a shelf of yellowed journals. Behind them, the front door swung open, and Cole's voice filled the small room, still maddeningly calm.
"Hello again, Alfred."
Alfred didn't look back. He shoved the drive deep into his pocket, gripped his grandfather's hand, and ran.
- Writer
