Misplaced Trilogy

by Brian Bennett

The gleaming man laughed. “We’ll see. She was too wrapped up in the TV to notice.”

  Trey moved closer to the truck and checked out the map. “Where we headed?”

  “There’s a KOA about fifty miles from here. We’re overdue for a dump station, so I think we’ll stop there at least overnight.”

  “What about food?”

  Mr. Collins gazed over the open farmland. “We’re not bothering anyone here, but I don’t want to wear out our welcome. Can you wait another fifty miles?”

  Trey nodded, but his shriveled stomach disagreed. “We’ll be fine.”

  The camper door swung open, slamming against the wall. Trey’s mother leaned out with a crazed look in her eyes. “Come quick, before you miss it.”

  Everyone just stared at the soap opera addict.

  “It’s not like that,” she said. “Just get in here.” She wasn’t kidding around. “Now!”

  She disappeared inside and the group broke into a jog. Trey hit the camper first and bounded inside, not touching either of the two steps.

  His mother stood facing the TV with one arm folded across her chest, the other raised to bite her fingernails.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “Commercial. He’ll be back in a second.”

  Trey pushed up alongside her, making room for Livy and his father to file in next to them.

  When the advertisement ended, Dr. Frank returned to the screen in his prominent talk-show chair. Beside him sat a young man with short, light-colored hair. Even in black-and-white on a miniature picture tube, it was perfectly clear the guest had eyes twice the size of other humans. Trey dropped his jaw, utterly speechless.

  Livy struggled as well. “Who . . . What’s he doing?”

  “Shhh . . .” said Mrs. Collins.

  Dr. Frank spoke to the camera. “We’re back with our guest, Steven Moorehouse. Here to tell us more about his remarkable disorder, is his lifelong physician. Please welcome Doctor Kay Yung.”

  The secure phone erupted with a loud pulsing tone as it rattled the nearby countertop.

  Simultaneously, the television cut to black, followed seconds later by an unscheduled commercial.

  The phone rang out again.

  “Someone answer it,” Trey’s father bellowed.

  Trey dove for the phone. “Hello?”

  Simmons rang out with fervor. “I don’t care. Get someone on it . . . Hello, Trey?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. What’s going on?”

  “Sorry, it’s a madhouse. Hold on.” His voice went muffled. “Who dropped the ball? Get Roger on the line.”

  Trey warily eyed the room of onlookers.

  Clear again, Agent Simmons continued. “Trey, sorry. There’s been a new situation. We’re taking care of it, but I want you to be aware of what’s happening.”

  “Does this have anything to do with Doctor Frank?”

  “Son of a . . . Does the whole damn world watch daytime television? Okay, okay, so you got the picture. I’ll tell you right now, we don’t know who this Steven Moorehouse is or anything about Doctor Yung, but the information is rolling in as we speak. Whatever you do, don’t call the number on the screen. We shut it down, and we’re back-tracing everyone who already called it.”

  “Uh . . . what number?”

  “Before the last commercial break they offered a hot-line for anyone afflicted by a similar disorder. I hate to be blunt, but the whole thing reeks of a trap.”

  Trey swallowed hard, fearing for his unsuspecting kinsmen. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “No, not at this time. Wait, yes there is. If you’d give up on your little family vacation and come back in like I wanted, you’d make all our lives easier.”

  Trey eyed his road weary family. They had heard every word spoken. Livy nodded her consent.

  “All right,” said Trey. “Should I call when we’re at the rendezvous point?”

  “That won’t be necessary. Graff and McDonnel will be there watching for you.”

  Mothers

  TREY WRESTLED DOWN another yawn, slumping along behind two sharply dressed federal agents, Graff and McDonnel. The squeaky wheels of Livy’s pull-behind luggage echoed through the deserted hallways of home-away-from-home at FBI regional headquarters.

  A heavy suitcase weighed down each of Trey’s arms as he spoke grudgingly to his empty-handed bellhops. “You’re not getting a tip from me.”

  Behind him, his mother spoke up tiredly with little conviction. “Don’t be disrespectful, Trey.”

  “Aw, they love me. Don’t ya fellas? What else would you rather be doing at three in the morning?”

  The agents marched stiffly without acknowledging.

  A closed door stirred a bittersweet memory. Months before, Trey had waited impatiently on the other side. He’d waited there to be reunited with Zach and Amy. And now, he hadn’t spoken to either since he’d risked a pay phone at a truck stop in Nebraska three weeks prior.

  “Hey, McDonnel,” Trey said. “Is it safe to make calls from here?”

  The agent glanced back. “We make calls regularly.”

  “Cool! So, will there be a phone in our room?”

  “Nope.”

  Graff veered away from his partner without a word and turned into a dark corridor. The motion activated ceiling lights flickering to life ahead of him. With the two stiffs as examples, Trey imagined the dull office party the bureau must have there every Christmas.

  McDonnel stopped at a set of double-doors and pulled one of them open. Holding the door, he waved everyone inside the dark interior. Without the agent’s usual dark sunglasses, Trey got a rare glance at his beady blue eyes as he passed. The young field agent was treated to a similarly uncommon glimpse of Trey without cover.

  A half-court gymnasium slowly lit up as McDonnel snapped the loud light switches. “Set your stuff down here. I’ll be back with sleeping bags.”

  Trey dropped the suitcases to the hardwood floor in disbelief. “Sleeping bags?”

  McDonnel cracked a smile. “Kidding! My partner is checking on your room.”

  Groans erupted over the bad joke, mixed heavily with tones of relief.

  The agent pointed toward the far side of the gym. “There are towels in the locker room if you’d like to shower while you wait. It might be a while.”

  * * *

  By the time Trey’s head hit a pillow, he plunged quickly into a deep stir-less slumber. Hours later, his mind and body reenergized, his senses opened to receive a message from afar.

  Livy’s mother gazed down at Trey with streaks of pink in the whites of her large, blue eyes. She stroked his hairline, cradling his pounding head in her lap.

  “I’m here, Sarah.”

  Feelings of betrayal coursed through his aching body as his messenger struggled to lift her head. The familiar bedroom with the cracked ceiling spun with each slight head motion. Trey was amazed Sarah could manage to transmit a message in such a weakened state.

  “Leave,” Sarah said in a dry whisper.

  Onna’s eyes glossed with wetness. “I’m sorry.”

  Sarah closed her eyes and turned away.

  “I told them nothing of value,” said Onna, her voice quiet and pleading. “I would die first, as surely as you.”

  Trey fought to separate his own feelings from those Sarah shoved into his mind. Tell me where you are.

  Slowly, the pain faded from his extremities as sleep overtook his messenger. Desperately, he clung to the very last prickles, willing his projection to show him the trail that brought the message to him.

  Her signal was gone. He lay quietly on his pillow, safe inside FBI quarters.

  A quiet sniffle called his attention toward the foot of his bed. He rose to find Livy seated next to his feet with her head hung low.

  He turned to see her sleeping body alongside his own, their hands clasped together beneath the sheets.

  He drifted next to her projection. “What’s wrong?”

  “I saw it all,” she sa
id. “I saw it all through your eyes.” A mystical tear dropped from her cheek. It sparkled like glitter before vanishing into thin air. She looked toward Trey. “I saw my mother.”

  Trey lifted his hand to her shoulder, but his ghostly fingers offered no comforting touch.

  She looked to the floor. “She doesn’t know I exist.”

  Trey leaned closer. “That’s not true. Onna saw an image of you. She had to know you were her daughter. How could she not? Heck, I thought she was you for the longest time.”

  Livy sighed. “Quite a mother-daughter connection don’t ya think? We’ve seen glimpses of each other and we’re both helplessly stranded.”

  Trey tried to be positive. “Let’s go back to Kryo. Together. We’ll find someone who can help us.”

  She shook her head. “It’s no good. I can’t. I’ve tried. I can’t pip around like you do, not that far.”

  He reached for her hand. “I’ll guide you there.”

  Her fingers slid uselessly through his palm. “I don’t think you can.” She swiped below her dampened eye and sighed. “I can’t even wipe away my own tears. How can I follow you anywhere?”

  “I’ll go alone then, and tell you exactly what I find.”

  She nodded. “Thanks. But not yet.” She looked him in the eyes. “Wake up and hold me first.”

  Briefing

  THE COMFORT OF FBI hospitality made life in the camper seem like the pioneer days. Trey stretched out on the fluffy sofa with empty breakfast dishes piled on the coffee table at his side. The massive television flashed at him unnoticed as he stared at the drawn curtains, where a fake window teased him with artificial light behind it.

  Trey’s frustration had reached a new high after hours of exploration had turned up empty. Not a single man could be found sleeping on Kryo. He felt certain Vidor had warned them all of his invasive tactics.

  The door rattled, drawing his family’s attention.

  McDonnel stepped inside, looking refreshed in his pressed suit. “Briefing in fifteen. No time to pretty up. Collect yourselves and let’s move.”

  Trey threw bare feet to the floor. “They found Max?”

  “I know as much as you do.”

  Trey reached for dirty socks, but they were snagged up by his mother. “I’m sure there’s time for clean socks.”

  Mrs. Collins turned. “Isn’t that right, agent?”

  McDonnel didn’t answer, so Trey slapped his feet across the cold tile floor to his baggage. Before long, he was tying sneakers while the agent waited impatiently.

  In single file, Trey’s family marched from the suite, McDonnel in the lead. Through the bustling corridors, they stuck close together at a quick pace. Hordes of casually dressed bureau employees paid the group little attention, aside from icy greetings to the steely agent.

  Their leader turned into an open conference room and it lit up on his entrance. Trey’s entourage circled a large oval table set with enough black leather chairs to seat a football team. Agent Simmons drew the blinds, cutting them off from those roaming the halls.

  Trey took a chair alongside Livy, directly opposite his parents, leaving both ends of the long table free for newcomers.

  Agent Graff arrived shortly thereafter, entering swiftly and closing the door. He pulled out the chair at the head of the table. “Good morning,” he said, lowing into his seat. A round of greetings followed.

  McDonnel circled the table and opened two cabinet doors, revealing a large videoconference monitor and the eye of a single camera staring at everyone present.

  Agent Simmons appeared on-screen in a matter of seconds, hair white as ever. “Good morning,” he said, the sound slightly delayed from the motion of his lips.

  “Good morning,” answered the subdued room.

  “Thank you for accommodating me on such short notice. I won’t insult you with an apology.”

  Simmons held up some papers. “Graff, did you bring copies to go around?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “Okay,” said Simmons. “While he passes those out, I’ll begin.” He pushed on reading glasses and scanned over the papers. “We’ve learned quite a bit about our talk show guest, Mister Steven Moorehouse, but that’s not the focus of this briefing. I’ll be happy to get into that at a later time.”

  Trey looked to Livy, curious what could be more pressing. He took her hand, bracing for the latest in a string of recent shockers.

  Simmons shook his head in disbelief. “Since the partial airing of Doctor Frank, five out of the hundreds of people who contacted the hot-line were reported missing. Three of those five have since been found alive. Aside from having no recollection of where they’ve been for the last twenty-four hours, they’re in good health.”

  He turned a paper toward the camera. “Anthony Padgett was found lost and disoriented in a deserted park several miles from his suburban home.”

  Trey looked down at the stapled papers Graff had slid in front of him. The front page was filled with a long list of names, phone numbers, and addresses. He flipped through several pages of similar listings.

  Agent Simmons continued. “Shelly Conway was found huddled in the bushes on the opposite side of the Mississippi river from her abandoned vehicle. We have a similar story for William Trout.”

  Simmons removed his glasses and faced the camera.

  “What all three have in common is a well-known disorder that led them to believe their eyes were shaped abnormally; however, I assure you that given the nature of their medical conditions, they are quite normal.”

  “Lucky for them,” Trey muttered.

  “That leaves two persons unaccounted for. You’ll see their details in your packets.”

  Trey flipped the pages to find a full-color photo of a teenage boy with huge blue eyes, candidly captured as he dined at a cafe. Below the picture, a thick paragraph summarized his personal data. The photo on the next page was cropped and enlarged from a high school yearbook, but the girl’s black and white image revealed yet another pair of oversized eyes.

  Trey pushed the papers away, too unsettled to delve into their personal backgrounds, certain the descriptions might serve as well for their obituaries.

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t end there,” said the agent. “Our associates at the CIA have informed us that Russia is now claiming to have detained one of our, quote, ‘mutant spies’ and is willing to negotiate a release under the condition we fully disclose our methods of genetic manipulation. I’m afraid I don’t have a name or photo, but I’m told he’s a teenage boy from a village near the Ukrainian border.”

  Trey looked to the video screen. “Sounds like Doctor Frank stirred up a crap-storm.”

  Simmons leaned closer to the camera. “I have one more. You’ll find a listing on page ten for Meagan Rose.”

  Trey flipped to page two, but there was no photo.

  “Thankfully,” said Simmons, “we were able to catch up to Ms. Rose before she could turn up missing. She’s currently cooperating with us under the false premise that she’s eligible for a large cash settlement. I’d like for you and Livy to speak with her.”

  Trey eyed Livy, shocked and befuddled. “Ookaay.”

  Livy nodded, equally dismayed. She turned to the camera. “When? Where?”

  “She’ll be there within the hour.”

  Paperwork

  TREY WAITED AT the silent conference room table with Livy parked at his side. The black leather chairs across him sat empty now that his parents had been kindly escorted back to their room by agents Graff and McDonnel.

  Trey bounced his knee nervously, unsure how the young girl named Meagan would react to meeting two teens who may or may not share whatever abnormality brought her there.

  Livy tipped back in her oversized swivel-chair. “So, we’re just supposed to play along? Like we’re here to cash in on our poor dumb luck?”

  Trey drummed the table. “That’s the gist of it.”

  “I don’t like it. I say if we know she’s one of us, we l
ay it all on the line.”

  “And if she’s not?”

  “Well, lucky for her. They can break it to her gently.”

  Voices murmured outside the door and shadows danced against the drawn blinds.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” said Trey, looking lively, free of any projections.

  Livy straightened her chair and swiveled toward the door. A moment later, the knob twisted and a short man entered, wearing a sloppy suit and a crooked smile. He turned back to the open doorway. “Come in, Ms. Rose. Don’t be shy.”

  A thin, ghost of a figure stepped inside looking far from bashful. Her cut-off tank top exposed a naked belly ornamented with several shiny rings and a partially concealed tattoo. Her bright green hair was long on one side and buzzed close on the other. A thin silver chain drooped from her exposed ear to her small nose, but none of the fancy adornments distracted attention from her large, blue eyes.

  Meagan cycled her gaze from Trey to Livy, then cocked a heavily penciled brow. “Looks like I’m in the right place.”

  The undercover agent did a double-take at the sight of Trey and Livy. “Yes, I’ll let you all get acquainted. I’ll be right back with some paperwork. Formalities, you know.”

  Meagan circled the table as the agent pulled the door shut on his way out.

  Livy scooted to the edge of her seat. “I’m Olivia, but everyone calls me Livy.”

  The girl flopped into a chair. “I’m Meagan, and nobody calls me Meg.”

  Trey reached across the table. “I’m Trey.”

  Meagan glanced at his hand, then ignored it. “How much are they paying us?”

  “I don’t know,” said Trey, pulling back his arm. “I think they’re still waiting to see if we fit the profile.”

  She spun toward them with a grin. “Doesn’t take a genius, does it?”

  Trey shook his head. Any doubts they were alike had vanished when she entered the room.

  Livy piped up. “Before they come back with the paperwork, I’ve got some questions.”

  “Go ahead, Liv.”

  Livy shifted uncomfortably. “I’m wondering . . . we’re wondering . . . if you have any unexplained abilities, like, in the way you appear.”