Misplaced Trilogy

by Brian Bennett

  His real legs were heavy when he swung them off the side of the bed. The friendly officer helped him to his feet and walked him out of the hotel room into a chaotic scene of local police vehicles of all sizes.

  His focus turned to the black-and-gold sheriff cruiser parked near the back. Smead leaned against his open door with a pleased expression, and Nigel smiled toward him through the open rear window.

  As Trey worked his way toward them, questions flew at him from every direction.

  "I'm fine," he repeated, waving them off.

  With a nod from Smead, Nigel threw open the rear door and raced toward him. When they met, Trey swept Livy up and swung her playfully in a circle.

  Smead's eyes gaped wide in dismay.

  Realizing too late how unfitting it must appear, Trey put Nigel down and messed up the young boy's hair.

  Trey's mother slid out of the rear seat, taking their attention away from the awkward moment.

  His father's head popped up on the passenger side of the car.

  Trey rushed to meet his parents, leaving behind any concerns he had about his origins.

  His mother's firm and warm embrace pulled him tightly to her thin frame. Ignoring the burning in his shoulder, he squeezed her even tighter.

  His father's long arms wrapped around them both, and they all swayed quietly in a giant cluster of interwoven arms. Looking up from their group hug, Trey's mother beckoned Nigel into the mix.

  After a long and silent greeting, Nigel turned to Trey. "The transmitter?" he mouthed.

  Trey's head snapped toward the police car where Dale and Carl had been shoved inside earlier. He saw only the backs of their greasy heads as the cruiser drove away from the scene.

  As their group hug slowly dissipated, Trey panned the scene in search of Gunther. Faces peered back at him from every hotel room. Cars slowed to a crawl with stretch-necked passengers. In the bustle of activity, Gunther could be any of them.

  Amid a crowd of police officers, a plain-clothed gentleman clutching a cup of steaming hot coffee turned to face him. The detective patted an officer on the shoulder and walked toward Trey and his family. Something in the man's confident walk and steady gaze told Trey the detective's onslaught of questions would not be as easily brushed aside.

  Family

  THE BACK SEAT of Sheriff Smead's cruiser remained quiet during the long ride back to Longwood. Trey's father, on the other hand, had no shortage of words in the front passenger seat. Smead appeared to enjoy hearing every word, but the suspicious law officer kept a constant watchful eye on his three passengers in the rearview.

  It didn't take Trey long to understand why Livy hadn't risked zoning out to keep him informed of their coming.

  Smead made full use of his privileges, burning up the roads with no regard for the posted speed limits, and the night sky slowly paled with each mile taking them closer to dawn and home.

  When the cruiser finally turned into Trey's family driveway, the morning sun cast their long shadow across the front yard.

  Everyone piled out of the car, and Smead stood at his door with a dutiful watch.

  Trey's father spoke through a cloud of vapor. "Thanks, Emmet . . . for everything."

  Smead nodded to Nigel. "Thank him. All I did was make a few calls."

  Trey's mother pulled a tight arm around Nigel and smiled.

  Smead gazed down the road. "I've got tons more paperwork for you folks, but it'll wait."

  They all sighed in relief.

  "Tell your mom hello for me," Smead told Nigel, tipping his hat before tossing it on the front seat.

  Nigel snuck Trey a guilty wince.

  Smead ducked inside, and the patrol car soon pulled away, inadvertently spinning up loose gravel at the end of the driveway.

  Nigel turned to the family. "That man asks a lot of difficult questions. I'm afraid Mom and I are gonna have to take his advice and 'skedaddle' back to Dad in Oklahoma before he raises a few more."

  "Not any time soon," Trey's mom insisted.

  Nigel smiled politely, stealing a glance in Trey's direction.

  Raising his brow, Trey returned a tiny shrug.

  The tired crew slowly made their way inside to the quiet, shadowy kitchen.

  Trey's mother flipped on the lights. "You wait here. I'll clear some things out of the guest room."

  "Don't go to any trouble," said Nigel.

  She paused at the doorway. "It's no trouble. I insist."

  "Thank you."

  Trey's dad gazed uncomfortably around the kitchen, uncharacteristically short of words. "I'll see if she needs help."

  Once they were alone, Trey questioned Nigel. "Do they know you've been pretending to be your mother?"

  Nigel nodded. "Yes, I couldn't have pulled it off with the sheriff without their help."

  Trey scanned the room, confirming they were alone. "Do they know you're really a girl?"

  The young boy shrugged. "I'm not sure. Should we tell them?"

  "Soon, but not right now. Even though they are handling all this like a couple pros."

  "Oh yeah, they're awesome. My parents went berserk."

  Trey opened up the fridge. "I'm starting to wonder if they knew all along."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, maybe they already knew I was different when I was adopted."

  He dug out a container of leftovers. When he turned around, his mother stood motionless in the doorway wearing a blank expression.

  Nonchalantly, he slid the bowl onto the island. "Is anyone else starved?"

  His mother turned away and disappeared down the hall.

  Nigel spoke up, "Maybe you should go talk to her."

  "Nah, not right now. I haven't eaten forever."

  Moments later, his mom stomped back into the room carrying an unfamiliar photo album.

  She thumped it onto the center of the island and dramatically lifted open the cover. Trey watched with a dumbfounded expression as she spun it around for him to see.

  "There I am," she said, "ready to pop."

  He looked down at his mother profiling a huge, round belly.

  She flipped a page. "That's you, Trey."

  He took in a page full of blue-eyed baby-boy photos.

  "And these aren't PhotoShopped?" he asked.

  "No," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "They're not edited."

  Nigel leaned toward the album. "You were so cute."

  His mother quickly flipped the pages and stopped again near the end of the album.

  "This is when we . . . began to worry."

  The small toddler's huge blue eyes out-proportioned his other smaller features.

  "We nearly took you for medical tests, but you were so healthy. You've always been so healthy."

  She closed up the book. "It wasn't long afterward that your eye color changed to brown, but in pictures, they were still blue. There are no more family photos."

  Substitute

  TREY SURVEYED THE cafeteria from his table-top perch with Zach close at his side. Without Nigel, the group of brainy kids had returned their fascination to the books in front of them.

  "Butts off the tables," said Bart in passing.

  Trey made a move to lower, but stood instead. "Look," he said, elbowing Zach.

  Zach stood up and stared in the same direction. Amy and a cute brunette with long, lively curls were walking through the cafeteria entrance.

  The two girls sauntered through the dining hall and met their admirers face-to-face.

  Amy spoke first. "Hi, guys, this is our new student, Olivia."

  "My friends call me Livy."

  Trey and Zach smiled their way through the mock introduction.

  "Jeeze," said Amy. "Do I have to do everything? This is Zach, and this is Trey."

  The boys looked nervously at the other nearby seniors.

  "Nice to meet you," said Trey.

  Zach nodded. "Hey."

  "Where have you been?" asked Trey. "Study Hall's almost over."


  "Student orientation," said Amy.

  Zach fought back a smile. "Courtesy of the President of Student Body."

  Amy rolled her eyes. "I thought that got old months ago."

  Zach smiled at Livy. "New audience."

  Livy returned a smile then gazed around the cafeteria. "Any place to get a Coke around here? A girl gets thirsty."

  Trey pointed to the machines. "Sorry, juice and water only."

  Livy's lip pouted.

  Trey leaned toward her and whispered, "You're gonna make me do it, aren't you?"

  Her pout curled to a sly grin.

  "I'll be right back," he said.

  Her smile widened. "I doubt that."

  * * *

  After wandering aimlessly around the outside of the school building, Trey made his way back to the teachers' smoking area. Now that the bell had rung, Bart Emerick was staring at him through a cloud of smoke as he strolled up.

  "Lose somethin? Other than your mind?" The old man's smile cracked deep valleys of wrinkles in his weathered face.

  "Is there a Coke machine around here?"

  "Ha," Bart scoffed.

  Trey scanned over the campus, and a gas station caught his attention across the street. He took a few steps toward it and was interrupted.

  "Get back here, boy. You know you can't leave the property."

  Trey turned in defeat, the locked cafeteria door adding to his frustration. "Can I go in through the lounge?"

  Bart pulled open the door and peered inside. "Go ahead," he said with a nod.

  Trey made his way past the old shop teacher into the empty faculty area. A quick glance around the room verified there were no vending machines inside either.

  As he approached the door to the quiet halls, an unknown man entered the room ahead of him. Their look of surprise was mutual.

  The middle-aged man stopped and read the wording on the door. "Isn't this the--"

  "Yeah, it--"

  Both cut their sentences short. Trey sensed the familiar vibration emanating from the stranger.

  The name Gunther froze at the tip of his tongue, and before he could build the nerve to speak it, Mr. Emerick followed in behind him.

  The stranger's surprised look drifted to flustered.

  Bart spoke from behind Trey's back. "It's all right. He's just passing through."

  Trey was speechless, not sure who Emerick was addressing.

  Bart caught up and paused next to him. The stranger in a corduroy sport jacket looked the old man up and down. "You must be the custodian?"

  "Feels like it at times," said Bart, shaking his head. He didn't explain and stared expectantly at the stranger.

  "Oh, I'm Mr. Jones. I'm subbing for Mrs. Wilson."

  He looked at Trey. "I don't suppose you're in any of her classes?"

  Trey shook his head. Focusing his thoughts, he tried hard to filter through the vibrations projected toward him. Unlike an inanimate object, the stranger's rapidly changing frequencies were a constantly moving target. Occasional glimpses of the man's large blue eyes and pale skin flashed at him in bits.

  Mr. Jones put his fingers to his lips in fake concentration. "I believe we've met, but I don't think I ever caught your name."

  Trey didn't answer.

  The substitute teacher offered some help. "Does Gunther Jones ring a bell?"

  "Ah . . . I guess I do remember you."

  Bart nudged Trey's arm. "You're already late, boy."

  "Uh, yeah. See ya around Mister . . . Jones."

  * * *

  Trey leaned against his truck, waiting for Mr. Jones to leave the school building. Zach sat on the open tailgate, watching in the same direction.

  "So," asked Zach, "how old do you think this Gunther character really is?"

  "I don't know. I thought he was our age at first, but there's just no way to tell."

  After a long pause, Zach added, "Do you think we can trust him?"

  Trey drummed his fingers on the truck. "I don't think so."

  Zach turned with raised eyebrows. "Really?"

  "I can't put my thumb on it, but something just doesn't seem right about him."

  Zach shifted uneasily on the tailgate.

  "It's probably just me; I shouldn't have said that. We kinda have to trust him."

  Zach jumped to his feet. "Showtime."

  Trey turned to a group of teachers exiting the building. Mr. Jones mingled among them, craning his neck occasionally as he walked. When his gaze fell on Trey, he stopped and waved the others on ahead. Casually, he made his way toward the student lot.

  Trey nudged Zach. "Tell them he came out this side, but have them hold back, for now."

  Zach thumbed his cell phone. Shortly afterward, he said, "They got it."

  As Gunther drew closer, his smile faded, noticeably disappointed by Zach.

  Trey stepped forward. "The name's Trey. To answer your question."

  Mr. Jones processed the name a moment. "Trey Collins. One of my first guesses."

  "This is my best friend, Zach."

  Gunther gave a disingenuous smile.

  "Don't worry," said Trey. "He knows all about us."

  "Oh really? Maybe he can explain it all to me then?"

  Zach shrugged with a nervous frown.

  "Let me rephrase that," Trey said. "He knows as much as I do. Which isn't a lot."

  Gunther looked around. "Where's your other friend?"

  "Oh, you mean Nigel? He left town a few days ago."

  "Yes, I saw that in the school records. I was thinking more of the new girl, Olivia."

  Trey pretended to scan the lot. "Her car isn't here."

  Gunther nodded. "Maybe you can call her up and we can meet somewhere to catch up on things."

  Trey patted his empty pocket. "I still haven't got a new phone. Some goons tossed mine in the Tomahawk River."

  Gunther's eyes spotted the phone in Zach's hand.

  Trey preempted. "She doesn't have one either. Same goons, different river."

  "Fair enough. Where might we hang out for a while and chat without a lot of ears?"

  "You mean, us and the creepy teacher guy?"

  Gunther smiled and tugged on his imaginary sport jacket. "Don't worry. I'll change into something more age-appropriate."

  "We could go to my house," offered Zach. "I'm sure no one is home this time of day."

  "Oh but, I was hoping Trey and I--"

  "Sounds perfect," said Trey.

  Gunther relented and gazed nonchalantly around them. In an instant, he transformed into a teenage boy wearing jeans and a t-shirt. "Shotgun," he called out.

  Trey and Zach searched franticly to see if his change was noticed, and fortunately, no one seemed to have caught it.

  "Dude," said Trey, "be discreet."

  Gunther strode around the truck and hopped in the passenger side.

  Zach slammed the tailgate closed. "I see what you mean."

  Trey opened the driver door and waited for Zach to slide in next to Gunther.

  "Can I drive?" Zach asked hesitantly.

  "Just get in, ya baby."

  Shortly thereafter, as the three guys drove off the campus, Livy's parked car came into view along the curb. Trey did everything he could to ignore its existence.

  Amy stood beside the small Prius, watching them approach with her jaw dropped.

  Gunther's head tracked Amy as they passed. "Hold up, hold up." He turned to Trey with a coy smile. "Isn't that . . . the girl of your dreams?"

  Zach turned to Trey with a questioning stare.

  Trey shook it off.

  Gunther turned in his seat and peered out the back glass. "And that must be. . . STOP!"

  Teenagers

  ZACH LED HIS gang of friends and one shape-shifting stranger through the front door into his large, upscale home.

  Gunther gawked in amazement at the high ceilings and immaculate interior. His fascination was interrupted by the clatter and scratching of a small fur-ball struggling for traction on the shi
ny hardwood floors.

  "Come here, Ozzy," said Trey, bending down to greet his other best friend.

  The small, bushy dog wagged its whole body in a hyperactive fit of excitement. Ozzy's split-second attention turned from Trey's petting, and the curious pup raced frantically to the feet of each newcomer, sniffing and wagging.

  "Allergic!" said Gunther.

  Livy looked surprised. "Really?"

  "No," he confessed. "I'm just not a fan."

  "Well, he doesn't seem to mind you."

  Zach snagged up the pooch. "I'll let him out for a while."

  Amy followed along behind them, leaving Trey and Livy alone with Gunther in the foyer.

  "Are you sure they should be involved?" Gunther asked.

  "They're my friends," said Trey. "And they're already involved."

  "Suit yourself."

  Zach poked his head around the corner. "Come on in."

  The trio followed their host into the great-room where Amy was already lounging on the large leather sofa. Zach plopped down next to her and waved for the others to sit.

  Trey and Livy settled into the empty space on the couch, leaving Gunther his choice of leather chairs on either side. He considered both and dropped into the one nearest Trey.

  Gunther scooted to the edge of his seat. "So tell me, how did you two find each other?"

  Trey leaned forward and began the long story about a strange boy named Nigel who showed up one afternoon during study-hall.

  Livy joined in occasionally, filling in Trey's missing blanks.

  After quite some time, Gunther interrupted their tale. "And you think Carl still has the transmitter?"

  "No," Livy answered. "It's in holding with his other personal crap."

  "Are you sure?" asked Gunther.

  "Yes, I've seen it remotely. Third shelf. On the left."

  Gunther smiled. "That lying sack of . . ."

  Everyone stared, curious about his outburst.

  "Carl told me he swallowed it," he explained.

  "Wait," said Trey. "You've talked to him since he was arrested?"

  "Sure! I'm his lawyer. How else was I going to find you?" Gunther looked at their surprised faces. "Don't worry; I'm not a real lawyer. He's gonna do serious time."

  "And Dale?" asked Livy.

  Trey rubbed his sore shoulder; it was healing quite well. "He shot Billy, you know."

  Gunther looked sincere. "I'm sorry. They told me everything."