Alien Abduction

by Irving Belateche

  I made a decision. I’d anonymously tell Mason or his mom about that safe—for I was sure that neither of them knew about it. And if there wasn’t enough cash in that safe for Mason to live his life without financial worry, I’d anonymously deliver more cash from my own earnings. This wouldn’t cushion the emotional blow of losing a father, but it would cushion the financial blow.

  With that commitment assuaging my guilt, I turned my attention back to the target: Tracy Miles. But not to profile her. I’d done enough of that. It was time to focus on the abduction. I played out what I’d witnessed when Ben had abducted his target, combing through the footage in my mind as if it were the Zapruder film, looking to pick up any tricks of the trade.

  And I did pick one up. One that I should’ve used when I’d scouted Tracy’s apartment building this morning.

  I needed to remove the license plates from my car—just as Ben had done with his car—before heading back to Burbank.

  Why the hell hadn’t I done that this morning?

  Because I was still in training—on-the-job training, the kind of training that was dangerous.

  Well, thank God I remembered to take off the license plates now. Otherwise abducting Tracy in front of bystanders would be even riskier than it already was. I was far more likely to get caught because someone jotted down my license plate number than because someone saw me commit the crime. I was well aware of the unreliability of eyewitness accounts. Six years ago, I’d written a feature story about it. Even in cases where witnesses were actively paying attention to the events unfolding in front of them, their descriptions of the people participating in those events were, for the most part, wrong.

  Jenny had gone to meet Lila, so I didn’t have to worry about her seeing me strip the license plates from my car. But Jake or Hannah might spot me, and if they did, they’d surely ask what I was up to. And pulling the car into the garage to do the deed wasn’t an option. The garage was packed with junk.

  I added another mental note to my growing list: clean out the damn garage. Not only would it provide a discreet place to remove and reattach my license plates, it would also give me privacy if I needed to load up the car with supplies for the job.

  For today though, I’d have to remove my license plates somewhere else. I considered a few secluded side streets, the ones that dead-ended at the 101, but decided to go with the underground parking lot at Marshall’s. That lot was rarely full, and it had some dark niches.

  *

  Before I headed out, I changed into the least conspicuous outfit I could put together—a button-down blue shirt, and a pair of jeans that weren’t too faded or too new.

  But when I stepped up to front door, ready to head out on my first assignment, an odd feeling came over me. Not odd as in weird, but odd as in foreign.

  I felt full—emotionally full.

  Sure, I felt nervous and anxious, but those feelings were overwhelmed by soaring exhilaration. The exhilaration of embarking on a unique adventure, a lucrative adventure.

  But this feeling of fullness—completeness—was so powerful that I knew it was more than exhilaration. It was also the overwhelming love I felt for Jenny, and Jake, and Hannah.

  I was going to secure their futures.

  And this love for them inspired me to make one stop before I walked out of the house.

  I knocked on Hannah’s door. She didn’t answer.

  I knew her well enough to know she wasn’t going to answer unless I was persistent. She was in there, angry at her mom—her cheeks flushed with fury—texting to her friends about what jerks her parents were.

  I knocked again, louder. “Hannah, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Still no answer.

  Another knock and another plea: “Hannah, I know you’re mad, but let me talk to you for a sec,” I said.

  Still no word from the other side of the barrier.

  I reached for the doorknob, expecting her door to be locked, but it wasn’t. Probably an oversight on her part. After an argument, she always locked her door.

  I opened the door and found her clutching her iPhone, sitting on her bed, her back against the wall, her knees close to her chest. She shot me a look of loathing—her eyes were narrowed and her eyebrows stitched. “What do you want?” she said.

  “I just wanted to talk for a minute.”

  “I know you’re trying to play good cop. But I’m not changing my mind.”

  “I’m not trying to play good cop.”

  “So you’re a bad cop too. Like Mom.”

  “No—I’m—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I quit the swim team, and I’m not going back.”

  “I’m fine with that.”

  “No you’re not. You’re just saying that so you can ease me into a dialogue and try to talk me out of quitting.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. She was feisty.

  “Why are you laughing at me?” she snapped.

  “I’m not laughing. I just wanted to tell you that I understand. Swimming has run its course, right? You want to move on with your life.”

  She cocked her head as if she was gauging my honesty. “Yeah… I guess.”

  “That’s fine. We don’t have to do everything forever. We all change.”

  “But you don’t think I’m changing. You think I’m quitting.”

  “You’re about as far from a quitter as I can imagine.” I looked at the paintings on her wall. Paintings she’d done herself. Stunning landscapes of Yosemite, inspired by a family vacation we’d taken there. One of the paintings had won a national art award for high school students.

  “Remember that painting class you took in fifth grade?” I said. “You cried every time you came home from it. You said the other kids’ paintings looked like paintings, but your paintings looked like—”

  “Shit,” Hannah said.

  “Yeah—and I think I got mad at you for using that word.”

  She reluctantly broke into a smile. “You did.”

  “You were so miserable that I wanted you to stop taking the class. But you wouldn’t give up. And when it was all said and done, your final painting was the only one chosen for that district contest.” I sat down on the bed next to her. “That’s how you are with everything. You stick with it until you’re good at it. You don’t quit. Even when—for some crazy reason—you decide to take German instead of Spanish.”

  “Yeah—well that I should have quit. It’s still hell.”

  We both laughed.

  “I’m proud of you, honey.” And I was. “Leaving the team must’ve been hard. I understand that. And I’m proud of you for going out and getting the job with Gregory Brothers. You made the decision that working there was more important than swimming.”

  She studied me for a few seconds. “So you’re really okay with it?”

  “Yes. Really.”

  She leaned forward and hugged me. “Thanks.”

  “But now we have to ease your mom into this. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  “You don’t need to flaunt it. I’m backing you up on this. And I promise you she’ll eventually come around.”

  “Okay.”

  I got up to go, but before exiting, I turned back to her. “I love you, sweetheart.”

  “I love you, too,” she said. Her rage was gone, and her smile was bright and beautiful.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I pulled into the underground parking structure at Marshall’s and parked in a quiet area far from the escalator. There were just three other cars parked nearby.

  I quickly went to work removing my license plates. As I did, I wondered if I should have rented a car for this assignment. Had Ben ever done that? Or was a rental car easier to trace than your own car? I supposed I could use a fake driver’s license and pay cash for the rental. Still, my mug would be right there on the security camera footage from the rental car place. I concluded that the reason Ben had used his own car was that it was the safest bet.

  But that train of though
t led to the recognition of another precaution I needed to take. When I got to the strip mall on Pass Avenue, I would need to locate the security cameras. I should have done that this morning. Another oversight; another part of my on-the-job training.

  I had a lot to learn, and no time to practice. I’d either sink or swim. And in my new line of work, sinking had serious repercussions. Why had Abel designed the job this way? Why not give me instructions based on lessons learned from abducting past targets?

  After the license plates were off and tucked in the trunk, I came up with an answer to those questions. Maybe the alien hadn’t designed the job this way. After all, I’d forced my way into the job. Maybe it was just me who hadn’t been given any instructions. Maybe Abel did give new recruits training. The recruits he chose.

  Wasn’t it possible that when Abel saw me—a nobody who’d stumbled onto his operation—trying to pull a fast one on him, he thought, Okay, let him sink or swim?

  *

  I parked in the strip mall on Pass Avenue, across from Tracy’s building. The first thing I did was check out the strip mall from my car, looking for security cameras. But that wasn’t good enough; I had to walk the mall too. Of course, that act alone put me in the crosshairs of some of those cameras. But that couldn’t be helped. It was critical that I knew where the cameras were, so the abduction itself wouldn’t be caught on tape.

  When I got the lay of the land down—the parts of the mall not covered by security cameras—I went back to my car. Rush hour was starting, which meant more traffic along Pass Avenue. That was a good thing. It made me less conspicuous than I’d been on my first vigil here. And there was more activity in the strip mall itself—a constant flow of cars pulling in and out, as commuters, on their way home, stopped to pick something up. That went a long way in helping me blend into the scenery.

  In the midst of all this activity, I kept an eye on the garage entrance to Tracy’s building. Sure, there was always the possibility that she had plans after work, and therefore wouldn’t be arriving home for a while, but there was nothing I could do about that. Eventually she’d return home.

  Over the course of the next three hours, I saw plenty of Acuras, which was the model of car Tracy drove. I’d found that tidbit when profiling her online. Then, near the end of that third hour, I spotted the one Acura I was interested in.

  Tracy pulled up to her building and waited for the gate to the underground garage to open.

  Now came the next vigil, the one where I waited for Tracy to leave her place. Already, this vigil felt different. My heart was thumping in my chest because I understood that as soon as Tracy left her apartment, I’d have to be prepared to abduct her. After all, I only had tonight and tomorrow night before the deadline expired.

  Tracy drove into the garage, and I was suddenly filled with doubt. What if she didn’t leave her apartment tonight or tomorrow night? Would I have to abduct her from work? Or from her apartment, which I already knew would be next to impossible?

  I told myself not to worry about that yet—I’d cross that bridge tomorrow. Right now, I had to keep my eyes glued to the entrance of Tracy’s building.

  About thirty minutes later, when my heartbeat had finally slowed, the front door of the apartment building swung open, and to my great surprise—and relief—Tracy walked out. Immediately I knew where she headed, because in addition to her purse, she was carrying a canvas bag. In California, you paid extra for paper bags, so if you were on top of it, you brought your own bags when you went shopping for groceries. That made me fairly certain Tracy was headed to Vons, the grocery store right here in the strip mall.

  Luck was on my side tonight, and I was thankful for it. But I’d need more luck to pull off the kidnapping.

  As I watched Tracy walking down Pass Avenue toward the traffic light, my heart began to thump hard once again. But this time my body was shaking too, almost vibrating.

  I tried to slow my breathing in the hope of fooling my body into thinking that this whole abduction thing was no big deal. But the magnitude of what I was about to do was hitting me hard and my body just wouldn’t comply.

  So with my heart racing wildly and my body quivering, I focused on executing my plan—and thank God I did, because it dawned on me that I had never decided if I should abduct the target before or after she completed her errand.

  I had to decide now.

  I watched the target step up to the intersection at the south end of the block, where she’d cross over to the mall. There she waited for the crosswalk light. She looked calm and collected, and that made me more nervous—sweat was forming on my brow. I wiped it off with my shirtsleeve and made my decision.

  I’d abduct her before she did her errand.

  I opened the glove compartment and pulled out the copper straw and the tin of tranquilizer pellets. Then I opened the tin, took a pellet out, and put it in the straw. It wedged in perfectly.

  Tracy crossed the street. She appeared relaxed and innocent, and her girl-next-door good looks accentuated that innocence. I suddenly felt bad for her—but I pushed that anguish away, stuffing it into the same place where I’d locked up my guilt over Ben’s death.

  I concentrated on my plan: I’d walk behind the target, very close to her, as if I were with her. As soon as it looked like we might actually be a couple, I’d tranquilize her, then catch her as she began to pass out—catching her from behind so she wouldn’t be able to identify me.

  I’d play the role of concerned boyfriend—Are you okay, honey? Tracy, did you miss your injection? I’d play it so that bystanders would understand that Tracy was a diabetic. I’d use her name a few times, and terms of endearment, so there’d be no doubt we were a couple.

  If a bystander was particularly concerned, I’d let them know that this had happened before, that I was capable of handling it, and that we were headed to the hospital.

  Tracy was now walking along the wide sidewalk that fronted the strip mall. I quickly scanned ahead of her, refreshing my memory as to what areas weren’t covered by the security cameras. Then I put my car in gear and headed across the parking lot, closer to the storefronts. Sweat now covered my palms, and I hoped I wouldn’t become one big vibrating, sweaty mess by the time I moved in on the target.

  I drove to the parking aisle perpendicular to the nail salon. I had decided to make my move in front of the salon—there were no security cameras there—so I wanted to park in a space close by. The farther I had to carry the target in my arms, the more attention I’d draw to myself.

  Unfortunately, there were no open parking spaces along this aisle.

  So I started up the next parking aisle, knowing that Tracy was closing in on Vons, which was next door to the nail salon. I had to hurry; I needed to park, scoot back through the parking lot on foot until I was behind her, then catch up to her from behind before she got to the nail salon.

  I found an open space, pulled in, and got out of my car. I didn’t lock the doors because I didn’t want to trigger the “beep beep” sound of my car doors unlocking during my return trip. That would bring unwanted attention to my girlfriend and me when I whisked her away.

  As I scooted through the parking lot, circling back around behind Tracy, a kink in my plan hit me, and hit me hard. Why hadn’t I thought of this kink before?

  On-the-job training—that’s why.

  The kink was the possibility that someone who knew me would see me abducting the target. They’d know I wasn’t Tracy’s boyfriend. It was true that I wasn’t in my own neighborhood, but I wasn’t that far from it either.

  And then another kink hit me. What if one of the bystanders to the abduction knew Tracy? They would know she didn’t have a boyfriend—that was why Ben had impersonated a doctor, rather than someone who knew the target.

  And if that wasn’t enough, a third kink hit me. Even if I managed to pull off the abduction outside the view of security cameras, there would still be footage of me right before the abduction.

  Too late now.
<
br />   Too late to consider any of these kinks.

  In the end, the only way to get away with this—the only way to earn those bricks of cash—was to make my shaky plan work. I had to execute my plan “properly,” as Abel had put it.

  I made it to the storefronts, then headed toward Tracy. She was closing in on the nail salon, so I had to pick up my pace.

  I avoided making eye contact with the people walking toward me. Though I knew eyewitness accounts were faulty, I still didn’t want to invite attention. But because I was hurrying to catch up to Tracy, I was also passing people moving in the same direction I was. These people could prove to be trouble later on down the line. They might realize that I hadn’t really been with Tracy in the first place, but had been trying to catch her from behind.

  When I made it to within five yards of Tracy, everything around me suddenly looked sharp and clear, as if a kind of hyper-alertness had kicked in. If my heart was still beating wildly, or if my palms were still sweaty, I didn’t know it. My focus was no longer on myself, but on my target and on my surroundings.

  There were no red flags, and the nail salon was coming up quickly. I wanted to be right behind my target, off to one side, for at least a couple seconds before she got there. Long enough to pull off the boyfriend act for bystanders, but not long enough for Tracy to sense that there was someone suspicious by her side.

  As I ran my thumb along the tranquilizer tube, which I clutched tightly in my hand, I sped up. Conversely, the scene around me slowed down, as if my hyperawareness had become more acute. As I bore down on Tracy—I was one yard behind her, on her right—the four people headed in my direction appeared to be walking in slow motion, which was exactly what I needed. Their deliberate, measured movements gave me enough time to glance from one to the other, looking for a window—the window where I could bring the straw to my lips without being spotted.