by William Bebb
Just past the workbench there was an old washer and dryer. On top of the dryer a clothes basket was on its side with some laundry scattered on the floor. A bright orange extension cord was plugged into the wall and draped over the basket. The cord trailed across the floor and headed toward the source of the pulsing light.
As she started to move forward, Avery pointed at the plug and she followed his finger. At the most intense moment of light the plug smoked momentarily where it joined the outlet and the overhead lights flickered.
He gestured to himself and pointed at the plug and mimed yanking it out.
The whining noise was making her teeth hurt and coupled with her back pains she didn't feel like trying to argue that his plan was dangerous. She nodded and held up three fingers so he could see them and mouthed the words 'on three'.
He nodded back and watched as the fingers counted down.
When the last finger was folded down, Avery ran across the cellar toward the dryer.
Over the years he'd been scared plenty of times, but this felt entirely different. Hairs all over his body were standing up at attention and he didn't dare look at the source of the light. Recalling the story of Lot's wife from the Bible he wondered, If I looked over there would I be turned into a pillar of salt, electrocuted like some scum on death row, burnt into a pile of ashes, or something worse?
I guess it doesn't really matter. The doctor said the cancer was inoperable anyway. If I gotta go, might as well go down swinging. He grinned at his shadow on the cellar wall while grabbing onto the extension cord plug and yanking on it.
Shannon held onto the pile of firewood with her left hand to keep steady. Taking a deep breath, she moved around the side and squinted against the brilliant light.
Allison had earlier described the ghost ball as silver colored, about the size and shape of a beach ball and now standing just a few feet from it, Shannon couldn't think of a better description.
The sphere was steadily hovering just off the concrete floor. Its surface was so bright it was hard for her to focus on it, so she looked down and saw a small square of darkness on its surface. The other end of the extension cord disappeared into the hole. She was aware of the gun held in her right hand but couldn't bring herself to point it at the sphere. What should I do? This kind of thing was never covered at the academy.
Movement on the wooden staircase caught her attention at the same moment Avery yanked the plug. Orlando Duprat was quickly walking down the steps.
The cycling whining sound and bright to blindingly bright light stopped as the murderer turned at the corner of the staircase. His eyes reflected back the sphere's light, but even that did little to convince her he was still alive. She'd seen the same lack of life and blank expression earlier when the fat kid had grabbed Duprat's foot at the football field.
He'd been dead, with nearly every ounce of blood drained out on the parking lot pavement, yet somehow reanimated.
Orlando's head was bent at an angle she'd seen a few times before at crime scenes where someone died of a broken neck. She noted there was considerable bruising and a wicked looking laceration running down his neck as he stepped off the staircase and in jerking movements crossed the cellar heading toward the sphere.
“Hands up, mother fucker!” Avery yelled, aiming his rifle at Orlando.
She turned back and saw him with his finger on the trigger and was prepared to shout a warning when a large rat started climbing up the man's pants. It's claws must have dug into his leg as it worked toward his groin because he dropped the rifle and was jumping around trying to knock it to the floor.
“Goddamn, pissheadedshitsuckingmotherfucker!” Avery screamed, as he tried to grab onto the rat.
When she looked back, Orlando was holding the sphere in his arms and the end of the extension cord fell out of the black square in its surface. He looked at her with his dead eyes and smiled vaguely as he started carrying it toward the exit, which she was blocking.
“Ex...cuse me,” a scratchy unpleasant voice said, through Orlando's mouth.
“What are you? What do you want?” She asked, still blocking the way out as Avery continued to struggle with the rat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw it was tearing at his shirt as he tried to pry it off, even while she dealt with a dead man holding a shining apparent spaceship in his arms.
“Wee want to n...not dessstroy humanity. M...move away. Do that and it m...may...yet be avoided, for a time,” the same disturbing voice said, while the distant amplified sounds of Sheriff Harrison giving Orlando his two minute warning drifted down through the house.
“Why should I believe you, whatever you are?”
The corpse looked at her arm holding the gun, and she glanced down as a roach climbed down heading for her hand.
She never had much love for insects, but willed herself not to flinch as it scurried down and jumped the short distance to the sphere. “Had we m...more time your back would be healed completely but y...your pain should be less now. Now, move before it is too late.”
Mendez hadn't noticed until he said it, but her back no longer felt like it was filled with shards of broken glass. “I need to know what's going on.”
“Move away from the exit and you will be contacted.”
The sounds of stomping feet and shouts came through the ceiling above as the police stormed the house in search of the man that stood before her.
He glanced up saying, “Time's up, m..move now or you will alll die.” He looked back at her across the top of the shining sphere and added, “P...please.”
She backed away and Orlando quickly climbed up the stairs to the backyard carrying the sphere. Glancing over, she saw the rat jump off Avery and scurry into the shadows of the cellar.
He picked up his rifle and ran over to the steps panting heavily. “Damn rats. Where did he go and why didn't you stop him?”
“Let's go see,” Mendez replied as they climbed the steps.
Two deputies had shotguns aimed at Orlando as he stood in the McGee's backyard. Lifting the sphere up over his head, he stood motionless refusing their commands to drop on the ground.
“Get down now!” The closest deputy yelled.
Mendez pulled out her FBI identification and waved it at both officers shouting, “Back off!”
They looked at her and then at each other in confusion before lowering their guns slightly.
Avery raised his rifle and aimed at the sphere as it began whining louder.
She slapped the barrel down and watched as the sphere slowly ascended.
Orlando bent his broken neck back and stared up as it climbed into the very early morning sky.
By the time Harrison, Hicks, and the other deputies arrived the sphere was at least a hundred feet up and moving faster.
“Orlando! Put your hands up and get down on your knees!” Harrison yelled, after giving the two deputies a brief combination pissed off and questioning look.
Orlando had his hands at his side as he tilted his gaze down at the group of law enforcement pointing weapons at him. He looked at Sheriff Harrison and smiled before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pistol. He never had a chance to aim, let alone fire it. The dozen officers shot him nearly simultaneously. Most fired just one or two shots, but a few emptied their clips and shotguns into him.
Later, when asked why they continued to fire, the ones who emptied their clips said they all felt that any man who could remain standing after being shot that many times was either wearing a bullet proof vest or for those who had seen the sphere- wondered if he was in fact human at all.
With a total of forty-two separate gunshot wounds being listed as the cause of death the coroner, a few hours later, would confirm that Orlando Eugene Duprat was indeed human; An extremely dead one in point of fact.
When he fell to the ground Mendez, who hadn't bothered to fire her gun, walked over and looked for any sign of Orlando's neck wound but it had been obliterated by the bullets along with the majority of his head. She shin
ed a flashlight into one of his ears and saw nothing unusual.
“So, how was your day?” Hicks asked, as he walked over watching her shine her light on the corpse.
“Simon!” Shannon yelled, and hugged her partner.
He'd been thinking for the better part of a day and most of the night, what he'd do when he finally caught up with her. Most of his more creative ideas were far too horrible to execute with a large milling crowd of law enforcement officials hanging around.
“Not in front of the locals,” he whispered.
“I was so worried when I heard Orlando had you as a hostage. We should get you to the paramedics. You look awful. How do you feel?” Mendez asked, as they walked toward the front of the house.
“A bit tired. Did you see that big silver thing the kid was carrying? Was that what I think it was?”
“We'll talk about it later. And yes, it was.”
“I want to see Thomas! Let me go, damn it!”
A deputy was blocking Sally from going up to her house at the bottom of the porch steps.
Hicks broke into a slow trot and put his arm around the old woman's shoulder and looked down at the deputy. “I'm Agent Simon Hicks with the FBI. Can you tell me why you're preventing my good friend, Sally, from going in her home?”
“Do you have any identification?” The deputy asked.
As Hicks sputtered and looked ready to do his infamous King Kong impression, by bashing the officers face in, Shannon opened her ID saying, “It's okay deputy, he's my partner.”
“The paramedics are working on an old guy in there. I heard it looks pretty hopeless,” the deputy said, still blocking the steps going up to the porch.
Sally screamed when he said “hopeless” and tried to push past him.
The deputy was distracted as he pushed the old woman back against Shannon and never saw Hick's fist when he punched him in the face. He fell into an untidy heap on the steps, unconscious.
Seconds later they were in the living room.
“Oh, Thomas. Please Dear God don't take him from me,” the old lady said, as she knelt beside her husband's body lying on the ambulance stretcher.
As Hicks stood by Sally to insure no further problems with the local police, Shannon looked at the young girl who was being checked over by another paramedic.
“He just tied me up. I was very scared, especially when he attacked my grandfather. I am unharmed. I should comfort my grandmother. She is quite upset as you can see, which is understandable given the circumstances,” she said, standing up from a chair.
The paramedic shook his head and shrugged as Betty moved to stand beside Sally who had started crying as she prayed.
“It is alright grandmother, there, there.”
Shannon looked at the other people in the living room to see if anyone else found the girl's choice of words or delivery weird. Her speech pattern was off kilter in addition to the oddly formal way she had of saying things. It sounded, at least to her, like the girl was reading from a script. But no one else seemed to notice as investigators took pictures of the living room.
Sally hugged the girl and cried harder as one of the paramedics said, “I think we're losing him. Do we wait for the helicopter or use the ambulance?”
As the other paramedic radioed for an estimated time of arrival on the helicopter, Shannon moved behind the old lady and her granddaughter and listened as the girl whispered in Sally's ear, “We should hug him, just in case this is our last chance.”
Sally knelt down and caressed her husband’s face gently, not wanting to disturb the plastic face mask delivering oxygen.
Betty stared at Mendez as she stared back.
“Chopper's five minutes out. Get those squad cars out of the way and it can land in the front yard!” A paramedic shouted at a couple of deputies who had been standing around doing nothing of any particular use.
They ran for the front door and moments later one of them yelled back inside, “We got a man down out here on the steps.”
The paramedics, knowing there was nothing else they could do for the old man, ran after them as Hicks coughed and followed them outside.
Shannon watched as the girl gently touched Thomas where the bandage met his forehead.
Sally was pleading for him not to go into the light as the girl looked up at Shannon.
Betty smiled before saying, “I think grandfather will live. Do not worry.”
A distant but growing sound of a helicopter could be heard as Betty stood up and walked over to Shannon, tilted her head and said quietly, “You let Orlando leave the cellar. You have many questions. If you are helpful getting me out of here without further interrogation by the local police, I will answer them. At least the ones I know the answers to.”
The paramedics and ambulance attendants came back inside as the helicopter landed in the front yard.
Shannon stepped to the other side of the room and gestured for Betty to follow.
Thomas was wheeled outside on a gurney with Sally staggering along behind being helped along by Hicks.
“There's no delicate way to ask this, so I'm going to be blunt. Are you an extra terrestrial?” Shannon asked.
“Yes and no. I will explain, if you get me out of here,” Betty said softly.
“Okay, but whatever you are, this better be good.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Dust to dust and singularities
He was lying in a warm sunny field covered in soft grass with patches of fragrant flowers scattered about. A caterpillar climbed up on his nose and unlike any he'd ever seen before, this one had a face; A friendly, smiling, almost human face.
He wanted to reach up and touch it partly because its tiny feet tickled him but mostly because it felt like a dream. His arm wouldn't move and he realized his whole body was paralyzed.
The caterpillar spoke up. “Relax, all will be well. You are special, favored by those both great and small. Your writings are inspiring and good.”
He felt the caterpillar's ticklish feet marching up his face to his forehead. A moment later a warm pleasant sensation flowed into his body. Staring up at the beautiful dark blue sky unmarred by even the hint of a cloud, he smiled.
A shadow crossed his face and he looked up for its source.
A pretty blonde girl was sitting beside him, smiling down at him.
When he awoke, Jake was alone in his hospital room. From the bed, he could see Red Mountain through the window as the first rays of sunlight glinted off the world's largest cast iron statue poised with a metal spear tip outstretched in one hand.
Idly wondering why the statue was called Vulcan, which he always associated with Mr. Spock from Star Trek, he realized he was hungry. Jake looked at the walls of his room and saw no clocks and wondered when they served breakfast. He yawned and sat up in his bed.
My writings are inspiring and good? Caterpillars that talk? Maybe my brain really is busted. I wish I had my computer or something to do, he thought.
There was a television bolted to the wall in the corner, near the ceiling. It wasn't turned on and Jake looked at the bedside table for the remote control. He didn't see it but did spot a piece of paper with his dad's handwriting on it. Grabbing the note, Jake read it silently.
Jake, I went home to get some of your things. I'll be back as soon as possible, probably around lunch time. I'll try and sneak you in something worth eating.
I love you, son.
-Dad
Why do parents always write and say stuff like that? I know he loves me. He doesn't have to leave notes like this lying around. What if a nurse or somebody saw that? They'd probably think I'm a baby or something, Jake thought, shaking his head.
He turned the note face down and put it back where it had been.
“Morning sunshine! Nice to see your smiling face,” the large nurse who had caught him out of bed last night called cheerfully as she entered the room carrying a tray with a plastic cover on top.
“Is that breakfast?” Jake asked hopefully.
; “Nope. It's my cat's dirty litter box. I always keep some around for extra special patients who climb out of bed in the middle of the night,” she said, placing the tray on a narrow table that she then wheeled over to him.
“Who me? Get out of bed? You must have me confused with someone else. I've been seriously wounded by a crazy redneck with a knife. I even have drain bamage to prove it,” he said, smiling at her and then the tray. “So, what's for breakfast? Ham and eggs? Wheaties and milk? Or a slab of bacon with grits?”
Lifting the lid, she smiled and said, “You must have this place confused with a restaurant, Mr. Sleepwalker.”
Jake groaned as he beheld the repast that had been prepared following strict dietary guidelines of staff nutritionists. It had all the essentials required to assure good health, except taste.
The boy picked up the most appealing item; half a piece of toast. It looked like someone had greatly shrunk it down in size, but Jake bit into it. It was dry, cold, and tasted like cardboard.
“Eat it all up, you're going to get a cat scan in a bit. They’re going to see just how much drain bamage you really got,” the nurse said smiling.
“Do you know where the TV remote control is?” Jake asked, gnawing unhappily on the toast.
“Yes I do. It's at the nurses’ station, which is where it's going to stay until you eat all of your breakfast.”
Jake sighed and picked up the spoon.
The nurse watched as he shoveled a few bites of tasteless oatmeal into his mouth before turning to leave. “Eat up and I'll bring you the remote.”
With her back turned, heading for the door, Jake opened his mouth crammed full of the cold oatmeal and made a most disturbing face at her.
She called back without turning around, “Close yer mouth sunshine, or next time it really will be something from my cat's litter box on your plate.”
Jake then saw the nurse's face reflected back in the mirror over the sink by the door. He quickly shut his mouth and swallowed while fervently hoping his dad wouldn't forget to bring him lunch.