Alien Species Intervention

by J. K. Accinni

  Her initial reaction had been to laugh, but Jose tried to convince her that Echo may not have the best interest of humans in her heart. They had lived with Echo for six months now, and Abby had seen no behavior to suggest such a thing. The only disturbing facts were the little matter of Echo and the skeletons. The events that day back in Sussex were so traumatic and fuzzy in her memory that she no longer cared where the skeletons were. Since Echo’s reaction had saved her from serious harm, she considered herself lucky. As a matter of fact, Echo seemed unusually attached to them. Not a problem. Since the three of them were all a bit love-starved for family, Echo fit right in.

  The changes to their bodies were another matter, and they were not sure how any of them would react if the swellings on their backs developed into wings as they suspected. Lying in the sun in the lap of luxury, healthy as the proverbial horse, Abby reveled in her new lease on life; not at all what had been foretold by her doctors as an abnormally short and difficult life span. She therefore refused to fret as Jose did. See no evil . . . If she must put up with her amazing tail and some cryptic remarks from Echo in exchange, she was willing; outrageously, gratefully willing. She realized she wanted to live a healthy life so badly she would do anything, contend with anything. She wondered what her mom would think if she had lived. Abby ached with the thought of what she could have done for her mother’s hard and meager existence, the delight she would have taken in their good fortune. She longed to share her newfound love with her mother. She needed her. When would the pain of her loss go away? And poor Scotty; he still needed their mother’s guidance and unconditional love, a critical foundation from which all healthy children developed the courage needed to find their own pathway through an often turbulent and malevolent world.

  From out of nowhere, Mimi stood up at the side of Abby’s lounge chair, her cloudy cataract eyes unblinking, begging to be picked up. Most of the time, she scurried around like an orphan, afraid she was going to be shown the door. Funny, that was exactly how Abby sometimes felt. Picking Mimi up, she cradled her in her arms, trying to reassure the little dog, knowing no one could. Just like no one could reassure her. Sometimes she felt that if she could just keep her pain sealed up, it would go away. Looking into Mimi’s tortured eyes, she knew they could both only hope.

  Later that evening, as they clustered around their new eighty-two-inch high-frequency macro digital television, she watched Jose tickling Echo, Barney and Penny on the sofa while Scotty lay on the plush carpet with Mimi. Abby, sitting in her favorite Chippendale-style wing back armchair—the one with the cabbage rose needlepoint—leafed through a vintage Stephen King novel as she tried to ignore the noise of the television. Glancing up, she saw a special announcement regarding the health of the Socialist New World presidential candidate, Omar Nasir’s, wife Jane. She reportedly remained in a coma, and it was doubtful she would survive.

  The news anchor moved on to another story. A young manatee had been found floating alongside the shore at Philippe Creek. Badly injured by a boat propeller, his tail had been severed. Having little hope of survival, he was rushed to the Mote Marine Laboratory for assessment and care. Moving on to the next story, Abby lost interest. Her thoughts drifted back to the unfortunate Jane Nasir.

  When their realtor, the aging but elegant Sylvia, with the ever-coiffed honey-blond hair—expertly highlighted, of course—toured Sarasota with them, she pointed out the mansions of many of the most famous residents of their community, including a mention of the Nasir mansion. Apparently, he did not spend much time there, as he was trying to beat his competition for his party’s nomination to run against the Muslim Brotherhood’s candidate for the office of the presidency.

  At the time, Abby showed no interest in Silvia’s story. She was not a political junky like so many others. Today, the media sources in Sarasota were having a field day with the story of Mrs. Nasir’s sudden strange illness. Most residents, regardless of their political affiliations, prayed she would recover. The Nasir family were not the only local celebrities this town boasted, but they were the most important.

  Abby wondered if Omar Nasir were to win the national election, would it have any effect on the residents of Sarasota? She also thought Jose should check on Peter’s progress in locating a diamond cutter. They didn’t need more money, but they could use the sale of the diamonds to acquire more property on the island to further insulate them. Just in case.

  Seeing Jose try to stand and shake off his furry demons, Abby realized it was time for bed. Admonishing Scotty not to stay up too late, they said goodnight and retired to their bedroom, sometimes the best part of their day. Jose lay down on the purple patchwork comforter, flicking the gold rope trim with his fingers as Abby slipped into her modest cotton nightgown.

  Hearing a soft scratch at the door, he rose to let Mimi in. She ran over to the bed, her desperation to get up comical; the bed was a full four feet over her head. Taking pity on her, Jose scooped her up, barely touching her as Mimi used his hands to push herself off and jump to the top. Glancing at Abby, he saw she had noticed.

  “Every time I think I have no more room in my heart, along comes something like Mimi.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. I have a weakness for her too. She’s my girl,” Jose said tenderly. He rolled onto his back, where Mimi promptly walked up the length of his body to rest on his chest where she made herself comfortable, her eyes fastened on him like a laser. Jose, in turn, watched Abby as she prepared for bed.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot lately.” Abby scrubbed her face, shouting from their Verde marble bathroom.

  “Anything interesting?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m just feeling restless. Any news on Peter’s efforts to locate Mama Diaz?” She moved back to the bedroom.

  “As a matter of fact, we do have news. The investigators have located them in Short Hills. I want to fly to New Jersey and bring them back with me. I won’t feel good again until I know they’re safe and sound with us. I can’t go on in the dark anymore. Not again.”

  At the tone of his voice, Abby let the subject drop, surprised at the oblique reference. She knew Jose didn’t like to talk about his first family. He had been very young and didn’t remember much anyway. Glancing over at him as she brushed her silken hair, she could tell his past rested heavily on his mind, his dark face was tight and tense—he hid tension poorly. The only sign that he physically lay in the opulent room with her was when he buried his face in Mimi’s fur, seeking solace. Sadly, she acknowledged that she didn’t know how to help him heal his old, deep wounds.

  Trying to get his mind off his sad past, Abby slipped into their huge walk-in closet. There she shed her modest nightgown and donned the ivory silk nightie, purchased for just the right moment. Lighting a long wax taper, she carried it into the bedroom to see Jose depositing Mimi on a raspberry upholstered vanity bench. Letting Jose take a long look, she grinned and turned off the bedroom light. Carrying the candle to the bed, Jose took it from her hand, setting it on the carved mahogany side table. Sweeping her into his arms, he kissed her.

  “You’re all I need right now, babe.” Holding her in his arms, he froze, then turned her around. Startled, she let him lift her nightie off her back. He ran his hand over what used to be smooth skin.

  “Does this hurt? Your changes are becoming more obvious.” Looking closer, he commented on the bony growth that had thickened, flanges sprouting all over the widening surface. “Can you check my back, babe? What do you see—anything new?” Turning, Jose presented his back to her.

  “This is way too freaky. Maybe we need to go to the authorities with this?” Looking closely, Abby could see he was further along than her, feathers sprouting all over the flanges that were actually made of keratin. Like fingernails, rhino horn or the framework of a bird’s wing. Soon, he would not be safe without a jacket over his shirt. How do you do that in a hot climate?

  “Are you nuts, Abby? That would ruin us.” Lowering his voice, he sounded more reason
able. “They would take all the dogs and Echo away from us. They would probably separate us too. You know you can’t trust the authorities, or the government. We’re on our own. It’ll be okay, babe. No matter what happens, we have to keep a low profile. Things are fine. Let’s not rock the boat.”

  “But how long do you think we can stay cooped up in this house?”

  “As long as we need to.” She could hear the impatience start to build in his voice. Dropping what she realized was starting to sound like whining, she changed the subject.

  “Would you like to think about having a baby?”

  “Now? Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I just want to hear that you’ll consider it—if we can find out from Echo that it’s safe.”

  “As soon as we resolve some of our loose ends, I promise I’ll highjack Barney and refuse to give him back until we get some answers from her.” Pulling her down on the bed, he blew out the candle, but not before, through the wafting gray wisp of candle smoke, he caught a glimpse of her relieved smile.

  *

  Downstairs, Scotty and Echo were making big plans. The evening newscast had not gone unnoticed. Without realizing Echo’s manipulation, Scotty decided that tonight held the opportunity they had long awaited. When they were sure Abby and Jose had turned off their bedroom lights, they raced outside the house, down to the quiet dock. The moon hung high and bright in the sky as if a child had cut out a silver circle and pasted it onto a blanket of rich black velvet. The luminescence gave them a lucky break. Scotty lifted Echo and Barney into the shallow skiff, helping them into their orange life jackets before belting them snugly. For the last time, he consulted the map he had pulled off the Internet. He pushed off, gliding noiselessly into the foreboding cold water of the bay, not even a flirty wave to distract them.

  Instructing an excited Barney not to whine or bark, Scotty navigated the small skiff through the silent water, eyes peeled for other larger boats, hoping to stay out of the way. The skiff lacked running lights, a huge handicap in the dark. Luckily, Scotty had grabbed a flashlight to use on the other end of their operation. It would come in handy if they needed to announce their presence to another boat, preventing them from getting swamped.

  As the skiff settled in the water, making slow progress, they felt the late spring evening rawness in the air. The light scent of brine enveloped them. From time to time, they would hear a solitary splash in the ghostly distance. They listened, all ears to the creepy calm quietude as they glided across the bay.

  Nearing their destination, Scotty steered to the shore, hugging the broken rocky coastline so as not to overshoot their destination. Before long, they spotted the aquarium. They quickly docked, pulling the skiff up over the rocks to dry white sand, the moon magically changing it to an unbroken field of snow. Tying Barney to the skiff with instructions to stay put, Scotty and Echo scouted the vacant buildings, looking for the medical unit. Studying the layout confidently shown for the tourists on their website made the search easy for them. But the only entry point they could find was over a wall which supported the seawater tanks filled with sea turtles. The wall loomed too high for Scotty to grab on to, no matter how hard he tried. Looking at Echo, they both realized what they must do.

  “If you can’t find the manatee, try to find another way to let me in. I’ll help. You sure you can handle this alone?”

  “Yes, Brother Scotty; I survived alone for over a century until you found me. I will be successful. Thank you for your help.” As the mind aura faded, Echo held out her arms and Scotty boosted her up the wall, her leathery feet catching close to the top. Saved by the suction effect of her fingers, she righted herself. She finished the climb and disappeared. Scotty looked up, seeing nothing. Five seconds passed and suddenly Echo’s face reappeared. A rainbow aura suffused his mind.

  “We are a good team, Brother Scotty—My Barney too.” And she vanished again. Shaking his head in amusement, Scotty slumped down on the cold sand to wait for Echo, dampness seeping through the seat of his shorts, goosebumps making the hair on his legs prickle.

  Taking any kind of action in their quest to save earth creatures was fulfilling. He paused, reflecting on how much he sounded like Echo when she had first suggested their secret alliance. This was not their first mission, of course. Not far down the coast existed a small shallow beach aptly named Turtle Beach. The green sea turtles’ nesting areas were staked out by volunteers, marked to protect them from marauding human profiteers who would eagerly dig them up and sell the eggs to be eaten as delicacies. The efforts of the volunteers were usually fruitless, the poachers cleaning out the nests relentlessly, year after year. As a result, the green sea turtle numbered amongst the most endangered of sea creatures.

  One night he had taken the skiff down the coast with his two cohorts. The overcast sky had looked bleak, waves kicking up bitter spray, whipping needle-like in their faces. Echo had located the beach, instructing Scotty to stay on the skiff with Barney, who had tightly hunkered down, shivering. Echo would not be long. Watching from the skiff, Scotty had swallowed his breath, his eyes bugging out in the cold wind as Echo had stood calmly in the coral sand, her crystal antlers peeling apart, releasing a stream of black-red liquid that had surrounded the beach and burrowed under the sand. Echo had announced she was finished, hopped back into the boat and they had sped home, anxious to sneak back to the safety and comfort of Scotty’s bedroom.

  It had only taken a week before a news story had appeared, commenting on the oddity of a man and woman found on the beach, victims of heart attacks; illegal digging and containment equipment found with them. The reporter had added that they were well known to the police as local poachers. Within a week, three more heart attack victims had been found. Mission accomplished; all poachers exterminated. The baby turtles were then able to climb from their nests, making their run for the ocean unimpeded by avaricious humans.

  Did Scotty feel any sense of remorse for his contribution to the deaths of the poachers? Was Echo’s influence on a young mind profound enough to make Scotty disregard all he had been taught about law and order? Or was Scotty just reacting with the naive exuberance of an idealistic youth, torn between the never-ending struggle between man, the predator, and wildlife, the prey? Scotty stroked his tail as it unfurled from under his shirt. Was he himself no longer human? Was he now wildlife himself?

  Scotty heard a shuffling sound. Looking up, he spied Echo’s adorable golden face, her hair standing on edge as she flew off the top of the wall, confidently relying on Scotty to catch her in his arms.

  “Gee, how about a little warning, girl? Some day you’re going to wind up on my head.” He hoisted Echo up under his arm like a football on its way to the homecoming touchdown. They ran for the skiff, where their major domo, Barney, continued to hold his own with the tide. Slipping Barney off his rope, Scotty pushed off and gave the outboard a tug, welcoming the quiet purr of the engine. Echo climbed up Barney’s back, their faces to the wind like pirates on the lookout after a particularly difficult raid. The adrenalin in Scotty’s bloodstream subsided as they reached home. He wondered where their next rescue would take them.

  Chapter 27

  Jose sipped coffee from a handmade artisan mug, acquired by their interior designer, like everything else in their dream house. Vapid daylight struggled its way through the celestial kitchen windows, announcing the radiant Sarasota sunshine, still hours away. He scanned the headlines in the newspaper, noting that Jane Nasir had died. Hadn’t he heard something about the Nasirs on the television a few nights ago? Glancing at a sidebar, he located a poll result showing her husband was sure to be the nominee for his party during the upcoming presidential election. He wondered how a man could continue with an objective like that when his wife had just died. He thought he’d heard they had a young child. He fought off a brief moment of deja vu.

  Scratching his unshaven whiskers, he absently reached for a sweet roll, food no longer the enticement it once
was. Was it a side effect of love or perhaps his body’s changes? He thought back to their days in Sussex County and realized he couldn’t pinpoint when his appetite had disappeared. He made a note to speak to Echo about that later, if he could find her. She and Scotty had sure seemed thick as thieves over the last few weeks. They were developing a bad habit of sleeping late, some days past noon.

  Refilling his cup, he turned the page, his eyes coming to rest on the unusual story of the young manatee rescued several days ago, near Philippi Creek. The young manatee’s prognosis had been hopeless, having lost its tail to a boat propeller. Propellers created just one of the tragic dangers for the precious ocean wildlife that had to compete with the heavy influx of recreational boating. The article went on to claim that the poor manatee had become a victim of a hoax perpetrated by a malicious prankster. The grievously injured manatee had been taken to the Mote Marine Laboratory for examination. In the morning, mysteriously, the manatee had disappeared and been replaced with a healthy young male, the injured male nowhere to be found. Lab officials were outraged to see a grievously injured creature callously used for a prank. Authorities were not amused.

  Sick, Jose thought. Glancing at his new Rolex, a present from Abby for his twenty-fourth birthday, he noticed it was time to get his rear in gear, not wanting to show up late for his meeting with Peter. Finishing his coffee, he ran out the front door, fighting his way through the thick brush of red Peace rosebushes, stately date and royal palms which served as easy access to Peter’s house next door.

  Ringing the doorbell, Jose surveyed the property. Not bad for a lawyer from Sussex County. Although Jose and Abby retained ownership, Peter lived there as if it were his own. They had allowed him to work with the decorator to select his own furnishings and, as a result, Peter had gone with a very stylized contemporary décor; quite sparse, but elegant.

  “Hey, Jose, come on in.” Peter stepped back from the doorway, admitting him into a two-story foyer with twin walls flanked by giant fiberglass Siamese cats, backs arched and faux-painted so artistically they looked ready to pounce. Peter looked like he had just rolled out of bed, his sandy-brown hair plastered in three different directions. Removing his frameless eyeglasses he stood, cleaning them on his shirt, his owl-like eyes unblinking, as Jose made himself comfortable on the baby-blue Natuzzi leather sofa in Peter’s minimalist living room.