Misplaced Trilogy

by Brian Bennett

  The need to know was overwhelming. In a blink of an eye, he was looking down at Amy's sleeping figure.

  His heartbeat settled, allowing his focus to remain with his projection.

  He gazed around the small bedroom, where soft moonlight streamed through the open curtains. There were no signs of a struggle. Amy's bed was the only one in the room; Livy must have been sleeping elsewhere.

  Amy's thin blonde hair flowed in waves across her pillow. The outline of her tender body under the purple sheets froze him in his projected tracks. He could not drag her into the eminent danger.

  "Sleep tight, Ames," he said softly.

  He turned away and instantly faced the green front door of his next hope, Sheriff Emmet Smead.

  Trey walked through the sheriff's closed front door, cutting off any light the half-moon offered. The pitch-black terrain of interior furnishing was only visible when silhouetted against the faintly backlit curtains.

  Fortunately, Trey's projected body slid silently through the unseen chairs and tables rather than thumping and bumping noisily against them.

  After casing every dark room on the lower level with no sign of Smead, he glided up the stairway. His nerves tweaked with vaguely criminal feelings.

  A warm glow of light spilled out into the hallway from the first open door. Trey slipped toward the opening and into the room. A nightlight in the adjoining bathroom cut a soft path of light from the half-open door through the large bedroom. Two lumpy sleepers spooned each other beneath the quilted blankets.

  Trey eased through the shadows to the opposite side of the king size bed to get an angle on the snoozing couple. Sure enough, Smead's hefty cheek and short yellow beard were squashed against the pillow alongside his wife, Cora.

  As Trey moved even closer, oval windows opened in each of their dreaming eye sockets.

  Deep within Cora's eyes, a dark and dirty alley called Trey to look inside. A magnetic pull tugged at him, drawing him toward her against his will. With great effort, he forced himself to look away, releasing the hold her dream had on him.

  He looked instead into Smead's oval chasms. A rippling surface of water appeared within the void, calling him to dive in.

  Trey submitted to the pull and offered no resistance. With a gut wrenching tumble, he fell into Smead’s eyes and landed softly on his feet next to Smead inside a small jon boat.

  Whizzzzz. A long trail of fishing line cast out from the sheriff's pole and plopped into the calm lake.

  "Excuse me," Trey said quietly.

  Smead cocked an eyebrow and partially turned to face his visitor. He huffed under his breath and looked ahead to his string, slowly winding it back in.

  "Sorry to bother you on your day off, Sheriff, but we desperately need your help."

  Smead reeled in the last bit of line and tucked his rod into the edge of the boat. Without acknowledging Trey, he leaned down and fired up the outboard motor with a mighty tug. The small boat quickly sped away, leaving Trey standing on a dock that wasn't there a moment earlier.

  With a simple thought, Trey was back inside the boat, drifting along with Smead on a narrow river channel.

  Taking a more drastic approach, Trey put on the scruffy face of Carl Davis. In a rough, gravelly voice, he growled, "You can't stop me this time, you back-woods redneck."

  Smead's thick hand sprung like a trap, gripping Trey's collar and squeezing it tight around his neck.

  "Listen to me, Sheriff," Trey squeaked out through Carl's pinched throat. "Or Dale's gonna kill that whole family and it'll be on your watch."

  Smead let go of his grip. The tan fishing vest suddenly transformed into his uniform shirt. "Spill it."

  Trey gave one of Carl's nasty smirks. "Right this second, while you're home sleeping in your comfy bed snuggled up to Cora, Dale and I have the whole Collins family tied up in their living room. As soon as I give Dale the word, we're gonna dice 'em up and leave 'em for you to find in the morning."

  Smead snarled the side of his mouth in contempt. "Don't breathe Cora's name through your foul, lying teeth."

  "Oh, I'm not lying."

  Smead huffed. "I'm not asleep. And you're in jail in Oak Valley."

  Trey loosened his collar and stretched his neck. "I escaped. And you are dreaming. And when you wake up, you better remember this dream and do something about it."

  Trey grabbed Smead by the shoulders and lunged, dragging the big man into the river with him. The ice cold water swirled rapidly around him as he and the entire river were being sucked out of Smeads head through his eye sockets.

  As Smead violently awoke from his nightmare, Trey's own eyes flew open in his living room back at home. With an uncontrollable gasp of air, Trey drew everyone's attention, including Gunther at the kitchen table.

  Storm

  GUNTHER STOOD IN the center of the Collins family living room, suspiciously examining each of his captives. His penetrating blue eyes stared down Trey longer than the others. It was obvious the half alien knew something was up, but Trey held eye contact without divulging any clues.

  Gunther pulled out his mobile device and studied the illuminated display.

  After a deep sigh, he said, "They're probably close enough. Let's get this over with."

  Everyone eyed one another in sudden horror.

  Gunther approached Trey first and bent down to untie the ankle ropes. He pushed his forearm firmly against Trey's shins as the ropes slipped lose, thwarting any thoughts of a quick kick to the head. He sidled on his knees over to Livy, and when he was finished there, he rose and motioned for them to follow. "Get up. Let's go."

  He waved his disguised weapon around the room. "Don't anyone try any heroics, I don't want to have to hurt you."

  "Oh," said Trey. "Leave that to your creepy little brothers, right?"

  Gunther smirked. "Not my call. I don't know what they have in store."

  Trey avoided Livy's watchful eyes and dropped the subject.

  "Sit tight," Gunther told Trey's dazed parents. "I'll be back for you two in a minute."

  With a light shove, he directed Trey and Livy toward the back door and followed them through the kitchen.

  Trey looked back to his parents before stepping outside. They ceased muttering between themselves and gazed at him with a look of determination.

  "They're not going," Gunther said quietly, pushing Trey out the door. "And spare me the mushy goodbyes."

  On the way to Carl and Dale's long black sedan parked in the driveway, Trey scanned the moonlit scene for the bodies of the two thugs. With no sign of them in sight, he was certain they must be inside the over-sized trunk.

  Gunther moved ahead and squeaked open the rear passenger door. He motioned Trey and Livy inside and stood watching them lower awkwardly into the back seat with both hands tight behind their backs.

  Trey kept his eyes glued on Gunther as the spry old man slammed the door and circled to the back of the vehicle. The trunk popped open, and Trey craned his neck to peer through the gap; a jumbled mess of arms and legs was stuffed inside.

  The lid slammed shut, and Gunther chambered a shell into Carl's dark handgun with a menacing, cold-steel slide action.

  "What's he doing?" Trey mumbled.

  "I-I-I," Livy stammered.

  When Gunther marched toward the house, Trey went into a frenzy. He spun his back to the car door and thrust his bound hands up to the handle. The chrome latch pulled easily in his fingertips, but the child-proof door stayed firmly locked.

  "Don't touch them!" he screamed through the closed window.

  Gunther continued unfazed toward the house.

  Trey lunged forward, trying to launch into the front seat, but he only succeeded in bashing his head on the ceiling and wrenching his back in the process.

  He rose from the floor and glared toward the murderous freak climbing the back steps.

  "I'm gonna--" Trey's seething words cut short when Gunther paused peculiarly on the steps, mid-reach for the knob.

  Gunther
turned slowly and gazed off into the darkness. Trey's eyes followed the direction of Gunther's stare. Distant headlights approached on Route 868.

  Trey stilled his frantic breathing and listened closely. A highly revved engine was moving toward them at great speed.

  Gunther leapt down the steps in a single bound and sprinted toward the parked vehicle. In a flash, he threw open the door and flung himself into the driver's seat. He dug into his pocket, but rather than pulling out keys, he extracted one of the stone transmitters. He fumbled nervously and almost dropped the smooth black rock before setting it on the dash. He pointed a finger and pressed it firmly against the small stone.

  With a huge sigh, he relaxed into his seat.

  Seconds later, Sheriff Smead cut his headlights and coasted his cruiser slowly into the driveway.

  Trey scooted up off the floor into the hard vinyl seat and stared straight ahead at Smead. The bearded lawman sat cautiously surveying the dark house and its shadowy perimeter.

  "He can't see us, can he?" Livy asked.

  "He can't hear you either!" Gunther shouted, proving his point.

  Smead climbed out of the car and put on his wide-brimmed hat. He tucked in his uniform shirt and fastened the top few buttons while strolling up the sidewalk toward the front door.

  From the covered porch, he peered through the sheer curtains into the dimly lit living room. His stocky frame jerked to the offensive. He swung his pistol out of its holster and slowly reached for the doorknob.

  Gunther shook his head. "So many loose ends. I must be slipping." He dug into his pocket and drug out a jingling set of keys.

  The engine ground to a start and clattered to a sputtering rumble. Gunther veered the bulky car around Smead's cruiser and eased his way out the long driveway, minimizing the light crunch of gravel beneath the heavy tires.

  Trey looked out the rear window as the car picked up speed and raced away from his lifelong home. The sheriff rushed outside onto the front porch and frantically looked in all directions. He removed his big black hat and slammed it to the floor. Scuffing the heel of his giant boot, he kicked aimlessly at the empty air in front of him.

  * * *

  Trey had been watching Livy beside him in the back seat for miles. Her short blonde hair radiated the moonlight that streamed through the back glass. Unlike her, Trey still held onto his human image, defiantly refusing to be like the bastard in the front seat who was driving them off to God knows where.

  Livy's bright blue eyes turned in Trey's direction. He looked away quickly, but not soon enough.

  She shifted uncomfortably, inching noticeably away.

  He drew in a deep breath, wanting to explain that she misunderstood; his revulsion in no way included her. Gunther's attentive ears dammed up the words forming in his throat. Slowly, he let the air drift from his lungs through mute lips.

  Livy's eyes narrowed in confusion.

  His stomach tightened with the realization that she may not have misunderstood. Maybe his admiring eyes had made her uneasy.

  He set his jaw. If there was a chance that these were their final moments together, he could leave no room for doubts. He pushed his feet hard against the floorboards and slid across the smooth vinyl seat until his body was pressed firmly against hers.

  A wave of warmth fluttered through his chest as she relaxed into him. Her head leaned to his shoulder, and her soft hair feathered his cheek.

  Gunther's cold blue eyes darted away from the rearview mirror, but not soon enough.

  Trey's arm pulled against the bindings in his effort to lift it around Livy, but the rough ropes cut deeper into the tender flesh of his wrists. He lowered his head and rested his temple gently against her soft forehead.

  He gazed out the window at the telephone poles flashing by in a steady rhythm. Their opportunities for escape ticked away with each one that passed. He wondered if Arken was following along, but it made little difference. No illusion could help him now.

  The front interior illuminated unexpectedly, breaking Trey's despondent trance. Gunther's hand-held device reflected brightly off the side window glass. A massive yellow and red blob moved across the small screen. Their driver was unmistakably tracking a storm, and from the looks of it, a heavy one.

  Trey raised his eyes to the gloomy darkness ahead. He turned to the rear window. The clear sky was clouding over, blocking out the stars and smothering the moonlight.

  Livy perked up. "What's the matter?"

  Trey turned forward again. In the midst of the pure blackness, miles in front of them, a fork of blue-hot lightning licked the ground like a snake's tongue. Large bulging clouds appeared and faded in the after-glow.

  "We're heading into a storm," Trey said.

  Gunther's weather display went dark, and he floored the gas pedal, raising the hefty engine to a roaring cackle.

  "Are you trying to go around it?" Livy asked, straightening in her seat.

  "No." Gunther chuckled. "We're going into the heart of it."

  Trey rolled his eyes. "Great."

  A long streak of light split the horizon for miles in both directions.

  "Woo," said Gunther with uneasiness in his voice. "That was a good one."

  "What are you doing?" Livy asked.

  Gunther leaned forward, searching the sky. After a moment, he settled back and slowed the car to a cruise. His eyes went to the rearview and met their worried stares.

  "It's harder these days," he said. "It used to be easy to get in and out of Earth's atmosphere without a fuss. We're pretty good at showing whatever we want, a shooting star, a weather balloon." He huffed in self-amusement. "Nowadays, the skies are monitored at all times, and it's not so easy to pull the wool over the eyes of a bank of computer instrumentation."

  Trey searched the sky. "So, they're coming disguised as a storm?"

  "No, the storm is real; it's more like camouflage."

  A thick pillar of white electricity bolted to the ground less than a mile away, sending a thundering shock wave through the car an instant later.

  "Uh . . ." Gunther stammered nervously. "Not necessarily this strong of a storm. This one just happened to be convenient."

  Loud thuds erupted sporadically overhead as large water droplets pelted the roof.

  Seconds later, a roar of heavy rain drenched the car, enveloping them in complete darkness. Gunther slowed the vehicle to a crawl, and the windshield wipers slapped the water frantically but ineffectively.

  "Yeah," said Trey. "Nice camouflage."

  The bulky car trudged slowly onward, rocked side-to-side by sudden gusts of rain-soaked wind.

  Trey found himself hoping the car would plow head-first into a tree, incapacitating their driver. From nowhere, a large blur of crumpled sheet-metal crossed their path, narrowly missing the front glass. They all flinched, dodging their heads uselessly to the side.

  Within minutes, the deluge that bore down on them slowly relented, and the headlights broke through the curtain of rain. Leaves and mangled twigs littered the wet road ahead. The hyperactive wipers stroked away the steady rain, allowing Gunther to resume a swift speed.

  The front compartment brightened with a soft glow. Gunther picked up his mobile-device he had forsaken during the heavy downpour. His large blue eyes met Trey's, illuminated by the screen display.

  "They're here."

  Workers

  SEVERAL MILES AFTER Gunther's announcement, the heavy rain died down to a light trickle. The long black sedan slowed suddenly, and Gunther veered off onto a deteriorating paved road.

  Not far ahead, a cluster of flashing emergency lights alternated between white and yellow, lighting up the surrounding trees. A crew of utility workers looked toward the oncoming headlights.

  Trey turned to Livy with raised eyebrows. He tried to cover his hope that he could somehow signal their distress to the emergency crew. Livy's enthusiastic gaze said what he hadn't.

  The headlights reflected brightly off a large yellow sign propped dead-center in th
e crack-filled pavement. The road was closed.

  When the car eased through the imaginary sign without as much as a scratch or scrape, Livy's bright eyes drooped. Trey slumped back into the seat and let out a deep sigh.

  Several yards into a field ahead, a white utility vehicle was parked with all four rigging legs extended for stability.

  A man in a white jumpsuit and hard-hat stood in front of the slow-moving car, motioning toward an opening in the thick brush along the roadside. Gunther cut the wheel and veered into a muddy path cutting through the thicket of overgrowth.

  Gunther threw the car into park and turned to face his passengers. "I know what you think of me. But if you screw around with these guys, you'll find out quick what it means to be heartless."

  Both rear doors pulled open simultaneously. Trey looked up at the same man who had waved them off the road.

  "Get out," the worker said in a harsh tone.

  Trey turned to the man's twin holding open Livy's door. The strong vibrations emanating from the crewman were oddly different from other projections. The pulsating waves were more dynamic and far more intense.

  He allowed his mind to synchronize to the foreign vibes, and for a fleeting moment, a pale-gray face with jet-black, almond-shaped eyes showed through the illusion. As if the alien's vibrations were fluttering on a rolling-frequency, the image was gone again, replaced by the human face of the utility worker.

  "Get out," the man demanded, firmer than his partner.

  Trey scooted toward his door and struggled to rise with both hands helpless behind him. A pair of long, boney fingers wrapped tightly around his upper-arm. Effortlessly, the man lifted Trey to a stand; the firm grip and pure strength gave the impression of being lifted by a machine.

  Trey gazed around at the flurry of activity surrounding him. A cool mist rained down, blurring the scene in a slow-blinking fog. Thousands of vibrations came at him from every direction, each cycling at a different frequency. When he tried to focus his mind to any one pitch, his thoughts skipped away in confusion.