by Jim Brown
“Same process, just infinitely more intricate.”
“So Mason isn’t crazy,” John said. “He did see Whitey Dobbs.”
“Exactly, and so did I. That day in your office, but with a difference. With Mason it simply switched images from Levin to Dobbs, but with me it moved, like you just saw.”
“How? I mean, I know you just explained all those dots on dots and electrical charges –”
“Particle realignment,” Dean added.
“Yeah, but how? I’ve never seen or even heard of anything like that.”
Dean sat on the corner of the brown table. He was in full tutorial mode now. “There are a lot of things you’ve never heard of that nonetheless exist. Television was out years before most people ever heard of it, let alone saw one. In 1958 no one had ever heard of a pop-top can. You had to use a can opener. Inventions we now take for granted were once wild flights of fancy. When they discovered the wreckage of the Titanic, you know what they didn’t find?”
“Leonardo DiCaprio,” Piper said.
“Besides him. Plastic. There was no plastic anywhere on what was then considered to be a state-of-the-art mechanical and engineering marvel.”
“Because it hadn’t been invented yet.”
Dean’s eyes sparkled. “Wrong. It had been, cooked up by a New York chemist named Leo Baekeland in 1907. The Titanic sank in 1912. Even though it existed, it hadn’t come into common use.”
John crossed his burly arms and nodded slowly. “So, you’re saying the picture is just a trick. Science we’ve just never heard of. All right, I could see that for us, but what about you? Surely you’ve heard of it.”
Dean grinned. “No, I’ve heard of things like it. Polymers that can change colors so a shirt that’s red one day could be green the next. But nothing quite this advanced.”He thumped the photograph with his ring finger. “This is what I call near-science – technology that is just over the horizon. Or at least I thought was just over the horizon.”
A page called for the charge nurse to report to duty station 1. An orderly dropped a chrome bedpan that clanged like a gong. Piper could hear the faint squeak of white rubber soles on the hard tile floors.
“So why didn’t the picture change for me?” John wondered. “And why didn’t it wink for Mason?”
“That’s the truly amazing part. Not only does the picture change, but the type of change is regulated by the person holding it. When you held it, nothing. When Mason held it, Whitey Dobbs. When I held it, a moving image of Whitey Dobbs.”
“Who’s Whitey Dobbs?” Piper asked again.
The question hung unanswered.
“Somehow, perhaps it’s body chemistry or fingerprint, but somehow the photograph determines who is holding it and responds accordingly. And there’s more.”
Dean pointed to a small black box, roughly the shape of a lighter, with a clear glass eye. “I found this sensor attached to the door frame of my house. It’s extremely advanced. That’s what triggered the tape recorder we found upstairs, which then began to play the specifically edited version of ‘Rock On’.”
“Science,” Piper mumbled. “But why? Or more specifically, why you? Why not somebody else? Does it have something to do with this Whitey Dobbs character you both seem so intent on not telling me about?”
Dean and John swapped a look.
“I’ll explain later,” Dean promised. But his face said he was lying. Piper felt suddenly uneasy.
“The bodies,” John said. “You wanted to see the bodies before the state police came.”
Dean jumped up and pointed toward the second microscope in the room. “Yes, yes, the bodies.” A slide was already waiting.
“Each time a knife or a blade is used to cut something, it leaves behind microscopic particles. Tiny bits of itself. I removed several particles from the hand and the classroom and found a match.”
“Your classroom.” Piper felt a wave of anxiety ripple across her body.
“The blackboard. John, I never reported it, but the night we found the body of Meredith Gamble someone broke into my classroom and carved a message into the blackboard. Whoever did it used the same knife or blade that severed the appendages. But the metal . . . ”
He nodded toward the microscope. They both looked. John first, then Piper. What she saw was a small mass of something silver-blue and quivering. She looked to Dean for an explanation.
“It’s a type of metal I’ve never seen before. But it might explain how a knife could stab through a skull.”
“What about the flaming truck? And the glass storm that killed Meredith? How are those that possible?” Piper asked.
“I don’t know – yet. The truck must have been dropped from a cargo plane, something powerful and big enough to carry such things. As for the glass” – he shrugged – “I honestly don’t know yet. But I will. And I do know it’s not magic. It’s not a phantom. It’s simply –”
“Science,” Piper finished. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that song before. So how did I know something was about to happen? I mean with the truck?”
“You tell me.”
Piper pushed her hair back behind her ears. “I don’t know. It was just a feeling.” Suddenly she was aware that John was staring at her. She crossed her arms, emulating his own posture. Then she noticed Dean’s penetrating glare.
“What? You don’t think I’m involved in this do you?”
“It would certainly make the most sense,” the sheriff said, shifting his position. Piper noted he was blocking her only avenue of escape. It was a practical deduction, and John was nothing if not a practical man. Was he going to arrest her?
“Dean?” she pleaded.
The doctor seemed conflicted, as if his mind and his heart were at war.
“Dean?” she repeated.
The sheriff asked the same question with his eyes.
“John’s right. It is the most likely scenario,” Dean agreed.
Piper felt her heart flutter, literally flutter, as if suddenly sprouting wings and desperately trying to escape the confines of her chest.
“But not the only one,” Dean continued. “And it wouldn’t explain the sparks.”
Sparks? What sparks? What is he talking about? Piper thought.
“Maybe you’re sensitive to subtle changes in air pressure. Or maybe your body produces a higher than usual bioelectrical charge. Some people can’t wear a watch because of it. It’s rare, but it happens.”
“I can’t wear a watch,” Piper said. “It always stops.”
“There you go. That could also explain the sparks – ”
“Sparks?” she asked.
“In your eyes,” Dean frowned. “Oh, you didn’t know about that?”
“Sparks in my eyes?” she asked, her voice rising, blooming with concern. “In my eyes?”
Dean made a gap with his thumb and forefinger. “Just little ones. But if you do produce a higher than normal bioelectrical charge, that would explain your sensitivity to such things. Particularly if some form of electromagnetic pulse is being used. That could also explain the trouble with the phones and the radios.”
Once again John acquiesced to his old friend’s wisdom. He relaxed his stance, but not entirely.
Piper was silent.
John scratched his face. “That takes me back to why. Why now? Why us? Why go to so much trouble?”
Dean shook his head.
It was Piper who answered. “Because of Dean.”
To her surprise, John nodded in agreement. Dean, however, was confused.
In the small confines at the rear of the lab Piper began to pace. “Yeah, think about it. What have we got that no one else has? A Nobel Prize-winning scientist, that’s what.”
“I hardly think – ”
She admonished him with a raised finger. “The person who killed Mavis left behind
a tape recorder with a specially edited version of ‘Rock On’ and a candle to draw you in and freak you out. If what you say is true, and this is all near-science, then who has access to such technology?”
“A major company,” said John. “Someone like NxTech.”
“No, not NxTech. They’ve already got the best shot of getting Dean to work for them, but what about a competitor?” Piper reached the wall, turned on her heel, and retraced her steps. “Think about it. NxTech has bought Hawkins Hill and plans to build a multimillion-dollar facility in Black Valley just so they can have you working for them. They must believe your mind, your ideas, are worth billions. You mentioned the chemist who invented plastic. How much was that ultimately worth? Or the person who invented Scotch tape, nylon, Dacron, herbicides, transistors, liquid crystal displays, Post-It notes? The value is unbelievable.”
Dean sat back on the corner of the table, his earlier elation gone, guilt and fear flashing like lightning across his face.
“So you’re saying it’s all about money?” John asked. “All of this -- this insanity -- in the name of capitalism? Just to keep a competitor from getting the upper hand?”
Piper shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time unfathomable acts were committed in the name of greed.”
“So why not kill him?” John said in his no-nonsense, practical voice that made even the extraordinary seem down right reasonable. “If what you say is true, we know they, whoever they are, are not deterred by the prospect of murder, so why not just kill Dean and be done with it? Problem solved.”
Piper chewed on this suggestion. “Maybe it’s more than that. Maybe they need him. Figure they can steal him from NxTech.”
John squinted. “Or maybe they have a problem they want him to solve.”
Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”
The sheriff sawed his lips back and forth, thinking. “It’s like this. See, I know you. Sometimes if I need your help on something, or just want a different take, I sort of, well, bait you.”
“Bait me?”
“Rather than just going to you with a problem, I dangle something in front of you, entice you a little – and away you go.”
“Like with the hand.”
“I ain’t proud of it, but, yeah, like with the hand.”
Dean stood up again. His face was red and puffy. “Mavis, Larry, Meredith, all dead because of me. Toying with me. Even dredging up a trauma from my past, Whitey Dobbs. And how do they even know about that?”
John chewed on his lower lip and then said, “Mary Jean Wentfrow.”
“Who?” Dean asked.
“Formerly Mary Jean Dobbs – Whitey Dobbs’s older sister. I looked her up about fifteen years ago, wanted to see if Whitey had made contact with her. Just curious. She lives in California, been married and divorced three times. Looks like the poster child for white trash. For the right money, hell, for any money, I could see her getting involved.”
Dean was wringing his hands. “So, they don’t want to kill me, just drive me crazy.”
Dean ran his hands through his hair. Turfs of brown stood on end. “They want to drive me crazy.”
John shook his head. “That makes no sense. If you’re crazy, you can’t help them. And if you can’t help them, then it’s easier just to kill you.”
“Maybe they just want to test you? See how far they can push before you crack?”
“No,” John said. “It’s nuts. Who would want to push a man toward insanity? And who has the technology to do what’s being done?”
“I think I know.” Deputy Jerry Niles had entered without their noticing. He still wore his heavy coat and gloves. Snow clung to his boots in bright white clumps. “I just came from Dub Pelts’s place. He claims to have shot down a spaceship, and I think he may be right.”
24
The giant, orange-and-white Coast Guard Sikorsky lifted off from the helipad and soared regally into the sky. The air was as smooth as a pane of glass, and visibility was outstanding. In addition to the pilot there were two investigators from the Oregon State Police on board. The Sikorsky was on loan from the Coast Guard. It may have been a bit of overkill, but after talking with the dispatcher in Black Valley, Martin Ludlow, the chief investigator wasn’t taking chances. Four bodies in three days – unprecedented in a town the size of Black Valley.
Something was happening, something strange and dangerous. The Sikorsky, named for the man who invented helicopters, was a hale and hardy machine. And despite the baby blue skies and weather service assurances, Ludlow felt safer having made a sturdier choice.
Twenty-one minutes into the flight he was proved right.
“Lieutenant, you may want to look at this,” the pilot said.
Ludlow had been working on his laptop, trying to stay ahead of the paperwork curve. When he looked up, he was shocked by what he saw. A cloud-no, a cluster of clouds. But even that wasn’t right. The word cloud was too feeble for the thing that hung in the sky above the tiny town.
It looked like a creature, a living, breathing, undulating beast coughed up from the bowels of hell and lurking over the unsuspecting community like an animal looming over its prey.
“What the devil is that?” he asked the pilot.
“Nothing on the official radar. It just sort of popped up.”
“That? How could something that big just pop up?”
The pilot shrugged. A bead of sweat escaped his pores and slithered down his face. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’re looking at one hell of a thunderstorm. But it’s too cold for that.”
“They had an impromptu blizzard last night. That wasn’t on the radar either. Just sort of happened.”
The rampart of roiling black-gray continued to writhe, growing ever larger as the helicopter drew near.
“Can we fly through it?” Ludlow asked.
“Don’t see any rain or snow yet. Probably looks worse than it is.”
Ludlow nodded, hoping the pilot was right. His stomach began to twist along with the thick black clouds.
They pulled into the macadam driveway. Two cars – John, Dean and Piper in the first; Jerry Niles and Coye Cheevers in the second. A column of thick, ghost-white smoke rose from somewhere behind the ranch-style farmhouse.
John removed a shotgun from the rack and carefully loaded it. “You two stay here,” he ordered, getting out of the car.
Dean watched through the now dusty windshield as John approached the house, cautiously flanked by the pair of deputies.
Only a few slivers of sun had slipped through the brewing clouds. Despite the time of day, the world had the look of perpetual twilight.
“Oh, my sweet Lord,” Coye muttered, standing by the corner of the house. It was just a whisper, but in the still, purple haze of premature twilight everyone heard.
Dean leaned forward for a better look through the window of the squad car. He shot a glance at Piper, who was in the backseat. Her body was trembling, but not with fear.
She’s feeling it again, Dean thought. But feeling what?
“Dean,” called the sheriff, “come over here.”
Dean got out and opened the back door for Piper. “Are you all right?”
She remained silent Her eyes, although not sparking, had the look of someone watching a dream or maybe a nightmare.
The chicken coop was completely destroyed. Columns of white smoke wafted into the air. And in the center was the object that had destroyed the coop – the massive ruins of a fire-scorched machine. The actual size was difficult to determine. It appeared slightly larger than a minivan, but the force of impact implied part of it was buried in the earth. Originally gray, it was now covered in scorch marks.
“God Almighty, it is a spaceship,” Cheevers whispered.
“I don’t believe in spaceships,” Piper said. “Or little green men, or any of that science-fic
tion stuff.” Piper said.
Dean turned.
She had shaken off her earlier gloom and appeared to be herself again. But her statement surprised Dean almost as much as the object that was smashed into the coop. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You believe in ghosts, spirits, things that go bump in the night – but you don’t believe in aliens?”
“At least my ghosts are from this planet.”
“I don’t know what to believe,” said John, tipping his hat back with the flat of his thumb.
“Whatever it is, it’s hollow,” Jerry said.
“You touched it?” John asked.
“No, of course not. Damn thing’s too hot. Besides, I was worried about radiation.” He bent down and picked up a golf-ball-size rock and heaved it at the device. It struck with a definite clulang. “Hollow, see?”
Coye covered his face with his arms and grimaced. “Don’t be doing that. What if there’s something inside? You don’t want to be giving no aliens a headache or nothing.”
“How do you know it even has a head?” Jerry challenged.
Dean turned his head to the side. There was something about the shape.
“Whatcha think, Doc?” Jerry asked. “I know it seems crazy, but Jesus, look at it. Dub says he shot it out of the sky. Those burn marks – I figure they are from entering Earth’s atmosphere.”
Dean walked toward the ruined machine, his head still tilted to the right.
“Hey, Doc, whatcha doing?” Jerry asked.
“Be careful, Doc,” Coye advised.
“Dean?” Piper asked.
John was quiet, his trust in the scientist unflappable.
Dean stooped, picked up a rock about the size of a softball, and heaved it at the machine. It struck with a louder but definitely hollow thung.
“Doc, you ought not be doing that now,” Coye moaned. “No, sir. Ought not do it.”
Dean starting walking again.
“Maybe you should stay back,” Piper urged.
“Thought you didn’t believe in aliens,” he said over his shoulder.
“I don’t believe in a lot of things, but that’s no reason to be foolish.”