Everyone is back.
Then a terrible thought hits me. “If everyone else in the neighborhood is back,” I murmur, “why aren't my parents?”
And before I have a chance to ask Porter inside, he blurts out something that makes my blood run cold.
I have to make Porter repeat himself to make sure I heard him right.
“Anna is missing!”
I don't even bother to ask Porter how he knew where I live. He's smart enough to launch satellites from his laptop not just spy on them like I do. But I do want to know how he was in contact with Anna, or at least her mother, when I can't get Anna to answer a simple text from me. Maybe now I had my answer.
“Missing how?” Van stands close beside me and eyes Porter with the kind of wariness you'd expect from a bodyguard.
“How do you know Anna's missing?” I say.
“I went to her house first.”
Now I want to know what he was doing going to Anna's house when he's supposed to be in love with me. But I don't ask. It's generally best not to ask questions you don't want to know the answers to. “And?”
“There's no one there. The house is deserted.”
I can't help but laugh in relief. “Porter, they're all on vacation in Colorado.”
“Do people normally take their neighbors with them on vacation?”
“What?”
“Yeah, her whole neighborhood is empty.”
Just like mine was.
“How did you get here?” I say.
“I don't know,” Porter says, “I knew I’d have to take the train all the way here, but... I don't know. I walked to the road to catch the bus, then all of a sudden, it's like, I was here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don't know how to explain it. I was there one minute and here the next.”
“You mean lost time.” I've got goosebumps. I know that Porter is almost as big of an alien buff as I am, and this is huge.
“I guess.” Porter rakes a hand over his mussed hair. “I don't know any other way to explain it.”
I look to Van, who's been suspiciously silent through all of this.
“Since you left school,” I say to Porter, “have you noticed any weird things happening?”
“Weird how?”
“Like the whole town of Berryville disappearing then reappearing the next day. Like everyone at Hawthorne being gone one day then seemingly back to normal the next.”
“What do you mean seemingly?”
“Like they're themselves, but they've taken tranquilizers.”
“You mean they're under some sort of mind control?”
“I wouldn't go that far. Mister Cunningham at the gate recognized me and was just like he always is, but just not quite exactly. It's like he's—”
“A zombie?” Porter says excitedly.
“No.” I sigh. “Different.”
Porter pushes his glasses up on his nose. “That's not much to go on.”
“Well, I don't understand it myself.”
Porter looks away. “My dad made a full recovery, and I don't understand how it happened. The day I came home, he was practically on his death bed, and the next morning, up and around like nothing had even happened.”
“That is strange. Was there anything else different about him?”
“Not really. I mean, he was learning to play the piano before I left for winter term. And yesterday, he was playing Christmas music on the thing like a... What's that word?”
“A virtuoso?”
“Yeah, that's it,” Porter says.
Then another terrible thought hits me. I run to the front window, and what I see makes me gasp. Just as I knew he would, just like Porter's father, Mr. Weingarten, a man who hasn't been able to walk to his mailbox in a year is suddenly outside pushing his lawnmower. “What's going on?” I murmur.
I turn and narrow my eyes on Van, giving him my best this is all your fault look. But as usual, he doesn't notice. This has got to have something to do with him. As soon as he showed up, all the weirdness started, but I can't figure out how they're connected.
“What made you go out looking for your friends?” Van says to Porter in a voice that reminds me of the major general when he has to sign my report card.
“I left because things got too weird at my house. It's like my family is no longer my family.”
“Yeah,” I say, not taking my eyes off of Van, “that seems to be going around.”
Porter is in the guest room upstairs taking a shower. I can hear the water running. I told him to get clean clothes out of the M.G.'s closet when he's done since his are toast. He's the last person I ever expected to be entertaining in my house, let alone suggesting he wear my stepfather's clothes.
“Can you explain any of this to me?” I say to Van, who sits beside the window. “Like why my neighbors are all back now.”
I’m thinking big picture here, not just what Porter's doing there. But as usual, Van is preoccupied. I step up behind him to see what he sees. He's watching red birds peck at the feeder, discarding the broken sunflower hulls and dropping unwanted millet on the patio.
He looks away from the window and for a moment, studies me intently. His eyes tell me everything I feel, anger, fear, desperation, and hope all rolled into one look. But when he speaks, his voice is resigned. “Explain what exactly?”
My frustration makes me clench my fists. “Why people are changing. Why they disappear. Why they seem different.”
“I only know what my primary mission is—protecting you.”
I sigh, a big one, and stare down at the white tips of my Converse. “Don't you want to ask me about Porter?”
“I have no need to,” he says evenly, but a shadow of annoyance crosses his face.
“Well, I’ll tell you anyway,” I say, struggling to maintain a conciliatory tone. I'm all fluttery inside, and I babble when I get like this. Besides, he should care at least a little bit about another man in my life. “He and I are in the same grade. We usually have classes together. He's liked me since he came to Hawthorne three years ago—Anna told me. He went to public school before. But there was a shooting at his school. His parents didn't want him going there anymore, and they thought he'd be safe at Hawthorne because it's gated.” I laugh at how ridiculous that sounds now. “Just like my parents' neighborhood. It's funny, don't you think, how we think a gate will protect us? But from what? If a life form more advanced than ours wanted something from us, they could just take it, or us. A gate wouldn't stop them any more than a hen's pecking stops us from taking its eggs.”
Van folds his hands across his chest, causing the corded muscles in his arms to bulge. “Is that what you heard in your mother's tapes?”
My body stiffens in shock. “How do you know about that?”
“I have called your father—”
“He's not my fa... Never mind,” I say, sorry that I interrupted him, even though he wasn't answering my question.
“I told him that you left school,” he bows his head, “and got away from me.”
“What did he say?”
“That I was to find you, and if I didn't, he'd have me sent home.”
“Where is home, Van? I know you don't want to talk about it because as you said it wouldn't make any sense to me, but I want you to tell me. Where did you come from?”
Van stands and faces me.
“You told me you're a watcher, but you haven't told me what that is.”
“I know about your mother's tapes because I can hear everything you hear as long as I am tuned into you. From the moment I came to Hawthorne, I have been tuned into you.”
“No...” my breath catches in my throat, “no matter where I am?”
“No matter where you are. You thought I had a wiretap on you, but it is a little less complicated than that, and a little more.”
“Is that why you put your hands on me?”
Van shakes his head. “I do not need to touch you to do it.” He takes a step towards me.<
br />
“Are you an alien? Because if you're from Venus, or someplace like that, it would make total sense because I’ve always watched it through my telescope at school. I can't help it. It's the easiest planet for me to see.”
“I am not from there.” There's a hint of amusement on Van's lips, and I brace myself because if he's finally going to tell me, I want to be ready. “I am from Earth, not far from here.”
What? I feel totally let down. “How can you be? You're so different from anyone I've ever met.”
“That is because I am.” Van stands close enough now that I can feel his warmth, breath his scent. “I am like you. You and I are the same.”
Somehow I think I know what he means. We are the same in a lot of ways. Neither of us is emotional, at least, not the way most people are. Neither of is close to our families. We're both kind of alone in the world.
He takes my hand, and pulls me towards him. I'm a little confused about his intentions now. The way he looks at me, touches me, makes me think this is becoming a relationship, but then I realize he isn't pulling me toward him but toward the window. I'm standing next to him now, our shoulders touching. He hasn't let go of my hand.
“See the birds outside? Do you know that birds have no hierarchy? They have no currency. They live for their survival and for each other. They live and work communally. It is a part of their DNA. They do it because it comes naturally to them. Humans used to live like that. Even though we do not now, our DNA has not changed. This is what your mother's work is centered on. That is why I am here.”
“How could you know that about my mother's work?”
“I have observed her.”
“At her lab?”
“Yes.”
“Do you work for her?”
“No.”
“Why did my stepfather answer your call, but he hasn't answered any of mine?”
“I do not know the answer to that.”
“Is my mother okay?”
“I do not know the answer to that either. I wish I did.”
“Then something is going on?”
Van's head tilts to one side, and sympathy for me fills his blue eyes.
I swipe the hair from my eyes and realize my hands are shaking. “I'm glad you're here, Van.” My voice shakes too. “I don't know what I would do if you weren't.”
No one's ever cared about me the way he does. I gaze up into his blue eyes, trying to see into his soul. Is he an alien as I suspect, a lone soldier? Or is there a passionate, human heart in there?
His eyes don't pull that turning to green trick this time. It must have something to do with thought control. His eyes are hooded like those of a hawk. And I think for sure he's going to kiss me this time. No one can stare at another person this long in a movie without kissing them. But he doesn't make a move. Instead, he leans forward and in a low voice says, “While your friend is occupied upstairs, show me what you found on the surveillance equipment.”
Van follows one step behind me all the way up the stairs past the bedrooms up another set of stairs to the bonus room. Along the way, I tell him where all the surveillance cameras are that the major general bought when he and my mother got married.
“There's nothing on the tape until my mother is getting ready for work,” I say.
It's impossible to feel unsafe with Van around. He remains close beside me. I can sense the barely controlled power coiled in his body, ready at any moment to spring into action. He is good at his job. I knew there was something special about him from the very beginning.
“The type of camera he uses senses motion,” I say, my voice a little shaky from his proximity, “like a trail camera. So, the only time it records is when anything gets in front of it.”
As we reach the top of the stairs, Van places his hand at the small of my back. The contact makes my breath come in in a rush.
“I saw something weird just as she's leaving the house.” But I don't say what I saw—I don't tell him about the goblin.
“I very much want to see it too,” Van says, opening the door for me.
The room that houses the M.G.'s headquarters sits above the garage with a view of the driveway.
“Don't you already know what I saw?”
Van doesn't answer. His keen eyes scan the room quickly.
“You said you could hear what I hear. Can't you see what I see?”
He nods. “At times.”
“Well, here you go.” I pull the chair out from underneath the desk for Van to sit.
This isn't a typical office. The desk faces the wall instead of the door, and there's a window above it. Unlike the M.G.'s study, the walls are pretty much undecorated, except for a road map of the city and another one of the state. The view out the window is of the street that connects Maple Lane to the main road that leads out of Cedar Park. I'm sure there's a strategic reason for this view. The major general doesn't do anything that doesn't have a strategy behind it. Even going to Publix for milk takes planning around how crowded the store will be.
The image of my mother pops up on the screen. I'm sitting at Van's shoulder, and I turn my head away quickly when I see her leave the kitchen. It's no easier to see it the second time around. In fact, it's worse. Even though this time I'm expecting it, I still cringe.
Van turns to me with heart rending tenderness in his gaze. “It is a typical reaction to seeing them.”
“Them? I say, pointing at the screen. You know what that is?”
He nods. “I have seen them before.”
“I haven't.”
“Recently, they have been captured on digital surveillance cameras unbeknownst to them and only at night. In the past, because they are telepathic and can pick up on the intentions of humans, when they were being filmed, they could sense it and disrupt the batteries in the camera or teleport away or even cloak themselves so they could not be filmed. But since this equipment lacks human interaction, they do not realize they are being recorded.”
Before I have a chance to ask my next question, which was gonna be Who are they? and What are they?, quick, heavy footsteps clamor up the stairs.
With cat like reflexes, Van is on his feet before I know it. His powerful hands yank me to my feet. Roughly, he shoves me behind his body, using himself as a shield between me and the intruder. Just as the door's about to be flung open, Van turns and gives my forehead a quick peck with his lips.
“Guys!” Porter bursts in, “I think you ought to see this.”
He's standing in the doorway, holding a manila folder in his hands.
Van's stance instantly relaxes. Instead of pressing himself against me, he takes a step forward and turns around.
My body aches for more of his touch. I want him to kiss me for real. I know I’m staring at him with all the longing I feel, but I can't help it, every time he looks at me, my heart turns over like his car's engine sparking to life.
Brilliant blue eyes quickly assess me, but if he's worried about me, he's got no reason to be. Like I said before, all of this should probably be scaring the daylights out of me, but it doesn't. My curiosity drives me. I don't just want to believe anymore—I want to know where they're from.
“I was in your dad's dressing room,” Porter's voice is so excited, it squeaks, “trying to find an undershirt and socks, and I found this.” He shoves the folder towards me. “It was inside his safe behind some jackets.”
“What were you doing in there?” I open the file folder. “He's gonna be pissed when he finds out!”
“I didn't open it. It was already open.”
Inside, were some official-looking documents. What other kind would the major general keep in his safe? But some were handwritten by himself.
“I think they're about UFOs,” Porter declares.
Van and I exchange looks. Porter doesn't know that he's a few steps behind us on this. He's just as confused as I was when I ran away from school.
Porter looks over my shoulder, re-reading as I look through the papers.
&n
bsp; “They are about aliens,” he says. “I knew it!”
We all knew it.
“It's true,” I say, reading from the major general's journal, “he reported a UFO sighting off the coast of Florida while training in Pensacola. He was flying maneuvers. He was a Navy test pilot in those days, Captain Warren Hollins. He engaged with the unidentified flying object after being ordered to fire on it, but his gauges went out. He lost control of his Northrup F-5E,” I read. “The UFO went from being visible to the naked eye and invisible on radar to then being visible on radar and invisible to the naked eye. He followed it until it disappeared into the Gulf just below Alabama.”
I look up from the paper. Porter's mouth hang open. Van appears calm and collected.
I go back to reading. “From that day on, he wanted to stay as close to the sky as he could, but he never saw another one. For twenty-eight years, he waited for another chance to find out who had been flying the craft, to get a chance to touch it, and even fly one himself.” I turn the page. “A few years later, he received Cosmic clearance, the highest granted by NATO. He talks about a three-year military study called An Evaluation of a Possible Military Threat that concluded that the UFOs observed all the way back in the nineteen fifties were extraterrestrial but posed no threat to national security and therefore no reason to keep studying them. There are photos of UFOs and autopsy reports in here.”
I look up, wanting to see Van's reaction to all of this, but again, he is calm.
“It says they identified three groups of unknown beings: humanoid, not human, and one that looked almost identical to humans.”
I keep reading. “Intelligence was most bothered by the fact that there could be aliens among them and they wouldn't know. They could walk up and down the halls of any building, and they'd have no way of knowing. And worse, they're superior to us in every way imaginable. Our technology is no match for theirs.”
“Your stepfather is correct,” Van says. “And if he were to tell anyone of what he knew, he would have never be allowed to see another craft again. And he would have been watched every minute for the rest of his life. That is why he has kept these papers under lock and key.”
The Bodyguard: an alien romance Page 10