by Ponzo, Gary
“Who?” Bryant asked.
“Silas,” Margo said. “Don’t go out there.”
Bryant saw the fear in her eyes and immediately reached for the phone on Lipson’s desk. As he was about to dial 911, a voice said, “Put the phone down.”
Standing in the hallway was a short man with a three-day-old beard and a shotgun tucked into his armpit as he shoved Lipson back into his office. Bryant grabbed his friend before he hit the floor.
The man with the shotgun had the wild eyes of someone on drugs, yet when he spoke, his voice was steady and clear. “I want you all on your knees,” the man said.
Instinctively, Bryant looked to Margo as if she could decipher the stranger’s resolve if she just focused enough.
“He’s here for me,” Margo said, in a glum demeanor.
“Now!” the man shouted.
“What have you done to Silas?” Lipson asked, but with the streak of blood that trailed up the side of his jeans, it was clear the man had used a knife on the monkey.
Bryant hesitated. If he was going to die, maybe he should take the guy with him somehow.
The man took a step closer and aimed the gun at Margo’s head. “Get down and I’ll make this quick.”
Bryant was about to swipe at the man’s arm when Margo said, “This will really disappoint her, you know.”
The man seemed to take her in for the first time. “Who?”
“Your mom,” she said. “You haven’t thought about what she will think of you once you’re known as a murderer. How badly do you think this would hurt her?”
There was a strange look on the man’s face. “What do you know about my mother?”
“I know her name is Angela,” Margo said. “I know she’s a devout Christian and raised you to obey the Ten Commandments. A murder charge against you would devastate her.”
“How do you know her name?” he asked, keeping his gun trained on her, but not seeming to remember it was there.
“I know how you felt that day when you stole the dollar bill out of her purse to buy an ice cream from the ice cream truck.”
The man’s eye’s opened wide. His mouth fell slack.
“You were ten years old,” Margo continued, “and you were so ashamed about stealing the money, you only ate half the ice cream and threw away the rest.”
The man seemed to wobble on his feet, his knees giving way. “You . . . who are you?”
Bryant took his chance and sprang at the man. He quickly pulled at the shotgun and began a tug of war. The man was strong and motivated. Bryant pushed the muzzle away from Margo, while Lipson joined the fray. He grabbed the man’s arm. The man couldn’t keep his eyes from Margo. Even as he was losing his grip on the gun, he kept watching her as if she would leave before he could find out more about her. Finally, Bryant took hold of the weapon and cracked the butt of the shotgun at the man’s face. The guy’s nose instantly exploded into a ball of blood. Lipson ran out the door to search for his animal friend, while Margo pulled some facial tissues from her pocket and patted the man’s nose as the blood flowed from his nostrils.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Margo scolded him, as the man dropped to the floor, wincing in pain and clutching his broken nose.
Bryant panted the excess adrenalin from his system. He reached for his phone, then remembered why he couldn’t turn it on. As he placed his hand around the phone on Lipson’s desk, he stopped himself from picking it up. This had to be Turkle’s doing. There was no other logical explanation.
“How do you know my mother?” the man pleaded through glossy eyes.
Margo said nothing as she tended to his wounds. She looked up at Bryant as if searching for their next move.
“We need to leave,” Bryant told her.
Margo seemed to understand.
A long, painful moan came streaming from the laboratory. Bryant tried to focus. Turkle seemed to find them no matter their strategy. He glanced around and picked up a strand of lead wires from one of the EEG units and began wrapping it around one of the man’s wrists.
“What are you doing?” Margo asked.
Part of Bryant was glad she was still avoiding his psyche or she would’ve known his plan. He pulled the man’s other wrist behind his torso and bound the two wrists together, then wrapped them tightly around the leg of Lipson’s desk so the guy didn’t have room to play with the knots. The man was babbling nonsense to Margo as she tried to console him.
“It’s okay,” Margo said while stuffing some rolled tissues up his nose to prevent any more bleeding. “Your mother is safe up in Heaven. She is very proud of you.”
Bryant lifted the receiver on Lipson’s desk and dialed 911. When the dispatcher answered, he told her there was a break-in at Dr. Lipson’s Sleep clinic. He gave the women the address and as she went through her routine of questions, he sat the receiver down on the desk and grabbed Margo by the hand. “Come on,” he said as he pulled her out into the hallway. When he looked to his left, he could see Lipson’s legs on the floor, sobbing over the loss of one of his close friends. It was quite obvious Silas was more than just a laboratory pet and Bryant couldn’t possibly offer anything to soothe the pain.
When he pulled Margo the opposite direction, she pulled back.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
Bryant’s body was raging with an assortment of hormones which could’ve had him running through a wall if he needed to. He bent down and stuck his face a few inches in front of Margo’s. “It is very important that you trust me now. I need to make some decisions on your behalf. I need to keep you safe.”
Bryant turned and tugged her toward the front door.
“But, Dr. Bryant,” Margo said, resisting his grip. “The car is parked out back.”
Bryant pulled open the front door and yanked Margo out into the warm night air. “We’re not taking the car,” Bryant said. “Turkle probably has a GPS tag on that one as well.”
It could’ve been paranoia working through his veins, but Bryant couldn’t rule anything out now. As he held Margo’s hand and tugged her down a side street, his mind raced while he considered his next move.
A stray dog pranced up next to them and fell into step with their rhythm as they race-walked down the sidewalk. Bryant had given up asking about the animals which Margo seemed to attract. He just took it as sign of animal instincts acutely aware of her ability to communicate on a higher level.
In the distance a siren cut through the stillness. Bryant needed to find someone he could trust and fast. He pulled out his cell phone and immediately turned it on. The second it seemed to get a signal, he pushed a name on his contact list. On the second ring Father Joe said, “Michael where in the world—”
“Please stop,” Michael snapped. “I only have a few seconds. You need you to do exactly as I tell you.”
“Of course,” Father Joe said. “Anything.”
Chapter 25
They were on the west side of Phoenix now, forty miles from Chandler and far enough to allow Bryant time to think. The night took hold as he sat on a bench at a bus stop with Margo next to him. They’d already taken a couple of buses to get there, but Bryant was taking no chances. They were staying completely off the grid. He wasn’t going to allow Turkle even the slightest opportunity to track them.
Margo chewed on her fingernails while Bryant scrutinized the other side of the busy intersection. A man wearing a bright-green Nike T-shirt walked into a supermarket with a large duffle bag over his left shoulder.
“There he is,” Bryant said quietly.
“How do you know?”
“Come with me.”
They waited for the light to change and crossed the street. Bryant tried to appear casual but his peripheral vision was dancing around the perimeter searching for anything suspicious. Once in the parking lot, the same man with the green T-shirt left the supermarket without the duffle bag. He maintained a steady pace to his car, then drove away.
Bryant made sure Margo was by his
side at all times. They entered the produce section and found the duffle bag just below the rack of cucumbers. Bryant hoisted the bag over his shoulder and made a giant semicircle around the organic fruit counter. As he headed down one of the aisles, he turned to Margo and said, “You want something to snack on?”
“No, thank you.”
Bryant picked up a six-pack of bottled water and a container of Honey Roasted Peanuts. “Protein,” he murdered, more to himself than Margo.
They checked out and started down the sidewalk away from the busy intersection toward a giant neon motel sign a couple of hundred yards down the street. As they disappeared into the shadows, it offered Bryant a strange sense of comfort. The anonymity soothing him like a warm bath.
They walked under the blinking “Vacancy” sign and entered the small office in the corner of the complex. A young man with fuzz growing under his chin and a tired face stood behind the counter and said nothing as they approached.
“We’d like a room please,” Bryant said.
“Sure,” the guy glanced at Margo, then back to Bryant.
“He’s my father,” Margo snapped.
The guy shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to,” Margo said, crossing her arms.
“I need one with two beds,” Bryant said, glad the guy didn’t appear to know who they were.
Once Bryant paid, the guy handed him the key to the room and went back to staring as they left the office and found the room just three doors down.
Bryant opened the door and was hit with the odor of mothballs and cleaning fluid. He handed Margo the duffle bag and pointed to the bathroom. “Go ahead and get changed.”
“How come I feel like a criminal?” Margo said.
“Because you’re being treated like one,” Bryant said. “Plus I’m behaving a little overly cautious.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “Go.” A command.
Margo seemed to like his demeanor. He knew she would. She desperately needed a father figure in her life, someone who’d boss her around and give her the comfort of boundaries.
While she was in the bathroom, he turned on his cell phone and dialed the Chandler Police Department’s main number. When the dispatcher answered, he spoke quickly.
“I need to leave a message for Detective Meltzer,” Bryant said.
The woman said, “I’ll put you through to his extension.”
“No!” Bryant barked. “Just leave him a message and put it on his desk, please. Do not attempt to call him, email him, text him, or any other form of contact.”
There was a pause while the woman seemed to assess his request. “What is your message?”
“Super Eight Motel on Eighty-Third Avenue. Room twelve,” Bryant said.
“And who should I say is leaving the message,” the woman asked in a snippy tone.
“He’ll know,” Bryant said. “Please, this is extremely important. Someone’s life may be at stake.”
“Who’s life?”The woman seemed to be losing her patience.
“Yours,” Bryant said, then pushed the end button. He turned off the phone, then walked over to the thick curtains covering the window. He moved the curtains aside and peeked outside.
The bathroom door opened and Margo came out in running shorts and a T-shirt. She sat down on the far bed and said, “Does he frighten you?”
Bryant let the curtains drop closed and sat on the bed across from her. “He doesn’t frighten me, no. Not for the reason you might think. I’m more concerned about you and what he wants with you.”
Margo offered a small smile. “What happens when he finds us?”
“He won’t.”
Margo’s eyes darted around the room, finally landing on Bryant.
“What?”
“He’s not from this planet.”
Bryant nodded, while Margo seemed to be examining his expression.
“What do you think about what I just said?”
Bryant had to be careful. He needed Margo to trust him, yet he couldn’t afford to patronize her. “I think you’ve been under severe stress and have come to some extravagant conclusions caused by the trauma you’ve incurred.”
Margo grinned and shook her head. “That’s the first time you talked to me like you were my doctor.”
It startled Bryant how quickly he’d gone into psychoanalyst mode. “You’re right.”
“So why don’t you spare me the doctor talk and tell me what you really think?”
Bryant looked down at the worn carpet between his legs. “I think your brain is functioning on a higher level than I or any scientist on the planet can quantify. You think Agent Turkle is from another planet because he behaves erratically. You can’t compute a rational explanation so your brain devises an alternative solution. It’s operating as efficiently as any brain has ever operated. I can’t understand infinity, yet somehow I’ll bet you could grasp that concept very easily.” He looked up at her. “Right?”
Margo pursed her lips and thought about what he’d said. After a moment she nodded her head.
“So who am I to judge your opinion of Agent Turkle?” Bryant said. “I’m not even in the same solar system as your mind.”
“So then, I could be right about Agent Turkle?” she asked while scrutinizing his expression. Or was she reading his thoughts?
Bryant considered the question carefully. “Yes,” he agreed. “You could be right.”
There was a prolonged silence between them while some raindrops began to ping on the window. Bryant got up and moved the curtains aside and saw the rain coming down in the parking lot.
“Dr. Bryant, do you still believe these voices I’m hearing are auditory hallucinations?”
Bryant turned back to Margo who was sitting there with her legs crossed, her hands on her lap. He cocked his head. “You don’t own a cell phone, do you?”
Margo shrugged. “Who would I call?”
The comment dropped down like a bomb from a plane. Part of a being a good psychiatrist is similar to that of a trial attorney. You try not to ask questions which you’re not already prepared to use in a therapeutic manner. Yet there he was, watching this poor girl drowning in her own self-pity and all he could do was frown in despair.
Bryant returned to the bed and sat down across from her. He knew enough to stay quiet and let her purge the pain at her own pace.
Margo’s fingers tugged the end of her shorts as if she were trying to stretch them out.
The stillness lingered.
Finally Margo said, “Everyone I know is either dead,” her eyes came up to meet his, “or about to be.”
The wind outside gained in strength. The window rattled as raindrops assaulted the glass structure.
Bryant tried to fake a small grin. “I’m not on the verge of death. In fact I am quite healthy.”
“No you’re not. You’re even sicker than I am.” She looked around the shabby motel room as if that was enough evidence to prove her point.
“Look, I may not be one hundred percent, but I’m capable of functioning. I just needed some time to think. That FBI agent was breathing down our necks every waking moment. There’s got to be an explanation for his behavior and I’m going to find it.”
“But what if I’m right and he’s from another planet? What then?”
“Then . . .” Bryant ran a hand through his hair. “Then, I’ll send him back to where he came from.”
Margo began to grin. It spread to her eyes, then her entire face burst into a giant laugh. It was contagious because even Bryant had to join in. Soon both of them were laughing hysterically at the concept of Bryant ridding the planet of an alien invasion all by himself. The two of them finally finding some common ground.
Their laughter subsided at the very moment a thundercloud rumbled in the distance. Bryant looked at Margo with a question in his eyes.
“They’re here,” she said.
Bryant considered all the possibilities. He wanted to believe this was all an alien invasion
of some sort and that Turkle was part of the invasion. It would almost be a relief. It would explain so many aspects of the past few days. But Bryant was a man of science and that’s where he was hanging his hat. That’s how he could understand Margo’s abilities and that’s how he could explain the storm system. Science.
“You see, Margo, if these aliens are really here to destroy the planet or even you or me, why haven’t they done it already? What are they waiting for?”
Margo seemed to ponder the question, her eyes looking up at the ceiling as if conjuring up thoughts from the ether. “There are certain rules they need to abide by. These rules seem to prevent them from doing direct harm to either of us. I believe they need someone else to do the dirty work.”
“Rules?”
“Yes, rules.”
Bryant understood the rules were probably created by her brain to compartmentalize her trauma. Put certain irrational behavior into rational categories. Placing rules to a completely fabricated event.
Margo opened the nightstand next to her bed and pulled out the Gideon’s Bible. She lay back on her pillow and began reading.
“You need some more light over there?” Bryant asked.
“I’m okay.”
“You find comfort in reading the Bible?”
“Don’t you?”
Bryant hesitated. “Um . . .”
“Please don’t tell me you’ve lost your entire faith in such a short time?”
“I’m not sure it was ever strong enough to begin with.”
“I think Father Joe would disagree with that statement.”
“Father Joe is a single-minded individual.”
“True. But that doesn’t help your argument.”
Another rumble of thunder outside, this time a little closer.
“Rules, huh?” Bryant finally said.
“Yes,” Margo said, flipping a page in her Bible. “Rules.”
Chapter 26
A crack of thunder startled Bryant out of his sleep. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand and saw it was 2:12 a.m. Across the small gap between their beds he could see Margo under the covers, curled on her side. The Bible still next to her. The rain was coming down hard now, and the window rattled unevenly as the gusts would kick up then subside. Within the rhythm of the storm system surging against their motel window was another sound. A mechanical sound which didn’t belong to any of the natural occurrences a storm could produce. He squinted in the dark as if it could increase his ability to hear the noise more acutely.