Cook House
Frederick, Colorado
Early Morning
4 March 2020
With the early morning light that trickled through his window, James squeezed his eyes shut before being jolted awake by the feeling that he forgot something. Frantically he checked the clock and moaned in distress before he remembered that school was canceled today due to the possibility of war breaking out. War coming to America? Yeah, as soon as I grow breasts. Smiling, he collapsed back in his comfortable bed and was ready to let sleep re-take him before he realized that he didn’t remember his parents coming home last night.
Typically, they would have been in around 7 p.m. since they worked in South Denver and they had to fight several dozen miles of gridlocked traffic before getting all the way out here. His dad wished they could find work in their field somewhere closer to home, but Spitzer Technologies was the best place to work for a couple of Theoretical Engineers of he and his wife’s caliber. At least, that’s how James’ dad put it when he asked.
James had only visited their work once when he was just starting high school in a misguided attempt to get him interested in engineering, so he wasn’t sure what exactly what they were doing or where exactly it was located. With the catastrophic failure that day, his parents decided that they would let him choose for himself but if he wasn’t on the way to becoming great by the time he reached his senior year then they weren’t going to pay for his college. James didn’t know the difference because it still felt like they were forcing him to do what they did, or something close to it.
Stretching and pulling himself out of his thoughts, James got up and walked to his parents’ bedroom down the hall. “C’mon! Get up!” He shouted while pounding on the door and enjoying the exchange of roles. “Can’t spend all day in bed, ya’ know!”
When no muffled yawns or voices came out to meet him, he turned the silver knob and pushed the white washed door open to reveal that the bed was still made and the hamper was empty. Okay, the bed makes sense. Mom would never let Dad get away with not making it. But no dirty clothes? Somewhere, very deep down next to place where he believed in some form of God and the knowledge that his adolescent brain didn’t know everything, a feeling of unease started to form.
Jogging down the stairs he looked in the sink for dirty dishes showing proof that his parents came home last night and left early because of the current crisis but all that was there was the soup bowl and glass he used last night for himself. “Could they have just stayed at the office all night?” He asked the empty house. No, they were working on propulsion tech. Definitely not something vital to national defense...
Refusing to panic for no reason, he grabbed the phone in the den and dialed first his Dad’s cell, and then his Mom’s but each time the recorded voice that had been used for years just said that they were unavailable and suggested to leave a message. Hearing his Dad’s gruff but kind tones and his Mom’s soprano tones eased his mind for a moment; and since they worked on stuff that required secrecy it wasn’t uncommon for them both to turn off their cellphones. Next, James dialed the preset number for the office but this time the line didn’t even ring, only a busy tone answered him. That uneasy feeling had snowballed into a knot in his stomach as he began to worry more and more about what was going on.
Normally, he would have just taken it as a good thing that his parents weren’t home today so he could go hang out with his friends, or maybe invite his girlfriend Kelsey over, but perhaps it was the whole mess about the potential war on the horizon that he mocked earlier that was causing him to worry.
Sitting on the couch, going over his homework from last night, the television stations out of Denver were down, James was trying to occupy his mind with something neutral when the doorbell rang and he jumped. Running to the door, all of his fears were wiped away; after all, Nick or Kelsey would have called or texted him before coming over, so the only people that would be here now would be his parents telling him to unlock the front door.
“About time you guys got home,” He said as he pulled the solid door open. Maybe if there had been a fancier door he would have seen before he opened the door that the man standing in the suit was not his father. “Who are you?”
“James Cook?” The man asked, his features distinctly Hispanic. “Son of Patrick and Laura Cook?”
“Yeah…” James answered uneasily.
The man’s features softened immensely and he reached into his suit to flash a golden badge in a black flip case. “Son, I’m Special Agent Julio Ortega with the Department of Homeland Security. I’m afraid I have some bad news about your parents…”