Dr. Karen Stone slammed her palm down on the table. "Not fast enough!" She hissed, and stalked out of the trailer door, slamming it behind her. The monitor on the table showed one George Hernandez, sitting chained to a deck chair, sweating under the Oklahoma summer sun. Dr Stone strode onto camera, a small, leathery woman with her dusty blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. I looked out the window of the trailer where I could see the same scene I saw on the computer screen, except now Dr. Stone was screaming and waving a water bottle in Hernandez's face.

It looked like I needed to reinstate some sanity into this situation. I got up with an internal sigh and deep misgivings about my life choices. I'd started out with big dreams, but by the time I finished my enlistment in the army the recession had hit and it was easier to find employment with a private security firm. After a year on the job in various positions, I had been intrigued when I was told I'd be assigned to a team of scientists dedicated to researching the mysterious Time Vulture.

But after three weeks…I looked out the window, to where Hernandez hunkered in his chair and Dr. Stone stomped around him, ranting and raving. First of all, the scientific research had some big government money, but there was no team, at least not since she harassed and bullied her two partners so badly that they packed up and left a week ago. She did stuff like watching Hernandez on the computer monitor when she could easily just look out the trailer window. And then there was the way she treated Hernandez. Supposedly using him as a test subject was all aboveboard and legal, but I guessed Hernandez hadn't realized that his contribution to science would involve being handcuffed to a white plastic deck chair and set out in the sun for hours at a time. All of this to research a bird that was, in my opinion, mostly myth.

The urban legends say that when you near the day of your death, your heart sends out a funny little pulse and your Time Vulture senses it and comes to escort you to your death day. The closer they get to you, the sooner your death day will be. Some people plan their funerals and say their goodbyes when they see a vulture. Others panic. But a lot of people just don't believe there's a connection between Time Vultures and death—pretty easy to do, since a relatively small number of people actually get a Time Vulture.

Theoretically, Dr. Stone's mission was to research someone near death (in this case a Death Row inmate named George Hernandez) roll back the mystery and show the natural explanation for how these birds work. In reality, we had been here for three weeks, the Time Vulture was just a threatening black silhouette against the blue sky, and both Dr. Stone and her experiment were beginning to fray around the edges.

I got up and went out into the heat. Dr. Stone was screeching, "You're useless! The longer you sit here ruining my project, the less valuable you get, do you understand that?" I caught Dr. Stone's arm just before she bashed her water bottle against Hernandez' head.

"Dr. Stone," I said. "I don't believe that enduring physical violence was in Mr. Hernandez' contract."

She did an abrupt turn, her eyes icy cold. "I don't believe policing me is in your contract, Mr. Riley. Mr. Hernandez' contract allows him an entire extra month to live. If he takes what he's been generously given and will not cooperate before his execution day, I have no choice but to increase the stressors in his life."

I didn't like to keep pushing the matter, especially since she was technically my superior officer while I was on this job, but I also wasn't going to sit in there and see a man dehydrated, beaten and given heat stroke on the whim of what she called science. Maybe some folks wouldn't care if a man sentenced to death for some brutal homicides was treated well, but I like to think right and wrong are a little bit bigger than my opinions and feelings.

"I'm going to have to ask you to stop," I said, keeping my voice level, and drawing attention to my gun by putting my hand on my hip.

She's a small woman, but the way she looked at me chilled my blood. "Fifteen minutes," she snapped, and marched back into the trailer.

I got Hernandez out of the plastic chair and took him to the shade of his own trailer, where there was a water cooler. He leaned against the trailer side, shut his eyes, and dumped the first cup of water I gave him over his flushed face. I kept my back to Dr. Stone's trailer, and asked, "What was she screaming about?"

"I don't know," he said, mopping his face and drinking another cup of water. "I keep asking her isn't it the vulture's job to get closer when it's time for me to die? And she just screams that it's not coming down fast enough and I'm doing something to mess it up." He shivered. "Riley, they offered to give my wife citizenship if I agreed to this experiment. She keeps threatening to have her deported if I don't get that bird down here, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do. They come on their own, not when you call them."

Personally, I have reservations about the truth in all the legends surrounding those birds at all, but I didn't bring that up, especially since Hernandez and Dr. Stone both believed in the vultures' abilities with religious fervor. Hernandez even believed that the birds feed off the dying soul and don't disturb the body, a superstition so ridiculous I avoided even bringing the subject up because it embarrassed me to see an otherwise intelligent man make a fool of himself.

"I'm going to report this to my superior officer," I assured him. "I don't think she told anybody that Jones and Davenport quit two weeks ago, either, and she's going off the rails."

Hernandez snorted. "No kidding."

That evening in the desert dusk, I went out behind the trailers, out of earshot, I thought, and called my boss to tell him what was going on. Despite my assurances to Hernandez, the answer was what I expected. Abercrombie, my boss, believes wholeheartedly in the chain of command, and in his company, the highest rank belongs to the customer. He chewed me out in colorful language and finished with a threat: "Do your job or lose your job, Riley. It's simple."

I hung up and cursed, turning back towards the trailers. As I turned, I saw a pale figure in the shadow of Dr. Stone's trailer, and then Dr. Stone herself stepped into the moonlight, staring me down, her mouth a flat, hard line. When she'd ensured that I saw her, she turned and stalked away. I went to bed, more uneasy than I've been in a long time.