“I wasn’t the only one who saw that light, Detective. There was the cyclist, Aten Mustafa, and my neighbor down the road, Jayden Plotzki.”
“They didn’t say they saw your sister levitating, Jake. They just saw a bright light.”
“And right now I see a man, Detective. A white man, with an automatic rifle, hiding in my bushes.”
“Of course you do Jake. What’s he wearing?”
Jake almost mentioned that he looked like a Stormtrooper from Star Wars, but caught himself and instead went with something less wacky. “Some kind of body armor.”
“A man with a rifle and body armor.”
“Yes.”
“And he’s in your backyard?”
“Squatting in the bushes.”
“Maybe he’s waiting for the aliens, just like you are.”
“It’s the three year anniversary of Holly’s abduction.”
“Are you finally confessing, Jake?”
“No. I’m reminding you that three years ago, my sister was taken. And you, Detective, and your entire department, have done exactly nothing to get her back.”
“We’ve done everything we’re supposed to do in a missing persons case.”
“Missing person implies my sister left on her own.”
“And why would she want to leave such a level-headed brother like you, Jake? You still unemployed? Or did the university take you back?”
Jake glanced at the equation on his white board. “I’m on leave.”
“Psychiatric leave, isn’t it?”
“They’re giving me time to try and reconcile the Landau–Raychaudhuri equation with the Yang-Mills theory and the mass gap.”
“And it has nothing to do with you freaking out in the classroom and throwing things at students?”
“What is it you want me to do, Jake? I already consulted with Mulder and Scully. They don’t know anything. Neither does the ghost of General Norman Schwarzkopf. Remember when you told me to get in touch with him?”
“I want you to remove the armed man from my property, Detective. Isn’t that something the police are supposed to do?”
Another sigh. “Coincidentally, I’m in my car. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
He hung up. Jake put his phone away.
Jake shooed away a housefly buzzing around his head, and walked out of the kitchen, to the patio doors.
Jake opened the door and stepped into the back yard to go talk to the guy.
FABLER ○ 1:41pm
Fair skinned and red-headed, Jake McKendrick looked like a masculine version of his missing sister. He strolled over the lawn, eyes on Fabler, his expression unreadable.
Fabler considered his next action.
“Don’t come any closer.” Fabler raised the weapon, keeping his finger outside the trigger guard.
Jake stopped his approach, but didn’t appear worried. Not the typical reaction staring into the barrel of a gun.
“Are you here for the light?”
Fabler had done a bit of interrogation in his line of work, and often the easiest way to get information is to just STFU and let the person talk.
So Fabler stayed silent and offered a slight nod.
“You don’t have red hair. Sister taken? Wife?”
Another nod.
“My calculations predict they’re coming back. I’m a scientist. I’m guessing STEM isn’t your area of expertise.”
That didn’t deserve acknowledgement.
“Are you here for me? Or for them?”
“Want to come inside and talk it over? I’ve called the police. But I can call them back, tell them not to bother.”
“When that rifle is still pointed at me, I can’t help but feel threatened.”
“You don’t appear threatened.”
“I have Asperger’s. Right now I’m in control of my emotions. Sometimes I lose control.”
Fabler didn’t know much about the autism spectrum, but it explained why this guy would approach an armed man without showing fear. He lowered the weapon.
“I can’t come in. You’re being watched.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “By them?”
Fabler nodded.
“I’ve considered that. I checked my house for bugs.”
“Not the right kind of bugs.”
Jake’s face scrunched up, apparently in thought. “Fair enough. We can talk out here. I’m going to reach my hand into my pocket and get my cell phone to call the police back.”
Fabler nodded again. Jake plucked a cell phone from his bathrobe. After dialing and waiting a few seconds, Jake spoke.
“Detective Woo, I hope you’re not on the way. Turns out it was a deer. No need to drop by. Sorry to bother you.”
Jake tucked the cell away.
“You left a message?”
“Yes. He didn’t pick up.”
“I need to move my vehicle.”
“I have room in my garage.”
“I want line-of-sight with the circle.”
“The circle of dead grass?” Jake rubbed his chin. “There’s a trail about twenty meters to the south of you, behind the trees. Can’t see it from the driveway. I assume you’ve got some kind of overcompensated macho four-wheel-drive vehicle?”
Fabler nodded. Jake began to approach. “I can show you where the trail is.”
“Okay. But don’t touch anything.”
Fabler met Jake halfway, and the man offered his hand, though he didn’t stare into Fabler’s eyes.
“I’m Jake McKendrick, but I’m guessing you already knew that.”
Fabler shook. “Fabler. The greys took my wife, Lori. I’m getting her back.”
“The greys? You’ve seen them?”
“I’ve been there.”
Jake stopped the handshake and squeezed tighter, finally locking eyes. “You’ve crossed an Einstein-Rosen bridge?”
“I don’t know where I went. But it was messed up.”
“And you came back.” Jake’s eyes widened. “So Lorentzian traversable wormholes are real, and travel is possible both ways. Forward
and backward.”
“I’m not following.”
“Forward and backward in time, Mr. Fabler. Did you believe aliens took Lori?”
“They looked weird, but spoke English. I can’t say if they were aliens.”
“That’s because they aren’t aliens. They’re time travelers, from the future.”
“LOWER THE WEAPON AND PUT YOUR HANDS OVER YOUR HEAD!”
Fabler glanced over Jake’s shoulder, at the Asian man in the suit, pointing a semi-automatic at him.
GRIM ○ 1:45+pm
Grim had been gripping the penny so hard that a bas relief impression of Splash Mountain had pressed into his thumb. He switched to his other hand. Or rather, his second hand.
His third hand wiggled her fingers at him, making Grim feel not-so-alone.
Grim followed a yellow light through the winding corridors. He hadn’t run into any greys since his tenure in the ball-drilling room, but it made sense. Every wall, every surface, concealed a possible door. Grim might have passed by hundreds of the ugly bastards, hiding just inches away behind the weird plastic shit.
He considered it. Maybe he needed to return to the great room and just wait for the greys to come to him.
So much about this situation didn’t make sense to Grim. But it not making sense made some sense.
He remembered the first time he ever smoked pot. Fifteen years old, some Senior threw a party when his parents were out of town, real-life John Hughes situation. It had been Fabler’s first time, too, and as the THC worked its magic, they plopped down on the lawn and were transfixed for hours
Grim remembered thinking how powerful they were, compared to the ants. “If we wanted to, right now, we could kick it over. Destroy their entire home.”
“Most of it is underground. Tunnels. But we could pour bleach or gas in it.”
“The ants wouldn’t know what happened. We’re, like, so much smarter.”
“That doesn’t mean we’re smarter, Grim. It means we’re assholes.”
“I’m not saying we do it. I’m saying that they’re just ants. They can’t possibly know what we’re thinking.”
They didn’t kick over the ant hill, or pour anything caustic into their tunnels. Instead, they went inside and devoured a whole punch bowl full of Doritos.
But Grim’s stoned thoughts applied to the current situation.
Grim didn’t know why they weren’t looking for him. And speculation would lead nowhere.
Grim took a big breath—
—and began to yell as loud as he could.
PRESLEY ○ 1:45+pm
The weight of Holly’s revelation, hours ago, weighed heavy on Presley.
After eating another insect hockey puck, Presley drank as much toilet water as she could.
“You’re really going to try it?” Holly, her new BFF.
“What have I got to lose?”
“It’s bad, Presley. Really bad.”
“But you’ve never tried it.”
“When you get sprayed, all you want to do is get away from it. Curl up in a ball and pray for it to end.”
“But it doesn’t damage you?”
“No. Except for your hair. Don’t touch your hair, or it’ll break off.”
“Break off?”
“It’s really, really cold.”
“I can handle cold.”
“Not this kind of cold, Presley. It’s horrible.”
“Good luck.”
Presley hopped over to the front of her cell—
—and pissed on the floor.
Then the spray came.
Hearing Holly describe it, Presley expected some kind of freezing sprinkler.
Instead, the room instantly filled with moist, super-hot droplets. Like a jet-propelled fog.
But not fog. And not super-hot. A spray so cold it felt hot, brining Presley’s skin everywhere it touched. Froze her bra and panties stiff within seconds. Turned her breath to snow. Coated her tongue with ice.
It shocked Presley so badly, she almost forgot her plan. Like Holly, Presley’s overriding instinct was to duck and cover, to get away from the intolerable cold. She almost curled up fetal.
Almost.
Eyes closed so they didn’t freeze, Presley took two hops, gathering speed, and threw a shoulder at the translucent door of her cell.
CRACK!
She lost balance, fell to the floor, and got back on her foot fast as she could. A whooshing sound filled the room, and Presley peeked an eye open, watching as the mist vacuumed through the hole in the ceiling where her food pellet came from.
A moment later, the room had warmed.
The puddle of urine had frozen and been sucked away.
Shivering, she hopped to the doorway.
Presley stripped off her underwear, still coated with ice, to let it thaw and dry.
Then she hopped back to the toilet/sink and began to drink.
THE WATCHER ○ 1:45+pm
The Watcher watches the monitor.
“You know how much energy it takes to find genetic matches. Do you really want to skip one?”
“I can’t read your mind, Watcher. Just your expression, and the context clues.”
“You’re afraid to bring Fabler back here.”
“Lives were lost. As you are aware, we are not the thriving species we used to be.”
“You handled him last time. You can do it aga
in. You need the pheomelanin. Your people need it.”
The Watcher stares at Mr. Fabler. “No. It is not worth the potential cost.”
“I can calculate the risk, if you’d like.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You have a 97.82381092029814% chance of killing him. I’m rounding up, of course. You don’t have infinity for me to name every digit.”
“I appreciate your brevity.”
“He’s armed with only an M16. Your armor will hold up to that, and your weapons are far superior. Might I suggest something more substantial than obedience prods?”
On the monitors, a drama plays out. Mr. McKendrick and Mr. Fabler, dealing with a police officer that must be Detective Woo.
“Suggest anything you like, Mu. I am not risking it.”
“You know best, Watcher.”
FABLER ○ 1:46pm
The cop appeared to be in his forties. He had glasses and a paunch, and at a distance of ten meters away his aim seemed questionable.
Anyone ever involved in a firefight knew you never shot to wound. An injured armed enemy is still an armed enemy. Shoot to kill, and confirm the kill.
While Fabler weighed the ethics, Jake stepped into his line of fire, heading toward the cop. “Easy, Detective. This is a friend of mine.”
“Get on the ground, Mr. McKendrick!”
Jake kept approaching.
Fabler dropped to one knee, making himself a smaller target, and brought the rifle up, staring down the sights, aiming at Jake’s coccyx, easing his finger onto the trigger.
“You’ve got this all wrong, Detective. He’s not a threat. You need to put down your gun.”
“I told you to get down, McKendrick!”
Jake stepped sideways—
—giving Fabler a clear view of the cop.
Fabler clenched his jaw.
What Happened to Lori Page 49