Near Sighted (A Jake Townsend Science Fiction, Action and Adventure, Thriller Series Book 2)

by Richard C Hale

  Grinning like the lunatic he was, Bart pulled the gloves off of his hands and reached for Jake. “You’re coming with me,” he said, and grabbed his arm.

  The sensation was like being stung by a thousand bees. A vision of blood filled his head and he held on to the side of the chair as he lost control of his body. In the back of his mind, another gunshot sounded and then the earth began to vibrate as another portal opened above them. The void shot purple lightning outward from within it and the most horrendous music Jake had ever heard erupted from the air around them and shook the Plexiglas of the chamber.

  Bart leaned in close and whispered in his ear. Even with the cacophony of noise, Jake could hear the voice speak to a place deep inside he didn’t know he possessed. “You’re going to belong to me now.”

  The voice slithered across his psyche and then seemed to stutter as it tried to speak again.

  “I don’t think so,” Jake said, with more strength then he felt. Suddenly a light so bright and clear, sprang from within the void and Jake had to squint to see. Nothing spoke to him, but he knew what had to be done. He placed his hands on either side of Bart’s head and held on with all of his might. Bart started to scream and his body shuddered beneath his skin. The stinging bees fought against Jake’s grip, but he ignored it. He had to hold on. The void needed to take them both and then everything would balance out. The portal would close and stay closed. It was the only way.

  Briefly, Maddy touched his soul and he turned to her and saw her sobbing, reaching for him through the chamber door. “No, Maddy. You must not. You must be there for the kids. You have to stay. I love you.”

  She flinched then as the light grew brighter and Jake saw her fade behind it. The light closed all around him and he heard the portal slam shut. Then everything went dark.

  Epilogue

  Maddy tossed dirt onto the surface of the coffin. Through tears, she watched it slide off the slick top and scatter into the deep hole of sandy earth. The service was a sham. She knew it, but the pain was just as deep. The children grasped her hands on either side of her and Lucas leaned into her, sticking his other thumb in his mouth. He cried silently.

  It had been a week since Jake entered the void and it closed shut, taking him from her life and leaving its own void that would never be closed.

  There was no body in the coffin, no ashes to spread, nothing to indicate that Jake was being laid to his final rest except the coffin of dark wood and shiny brass. She wanted to scream.

  The priest intoned his last words and though she didn’t hear a single one, she recognized when he stopped speaking and led the children away to the waiting limo. It would take them back to the house where she would receive guests wishing her sympathy and well wishes she knew she would never feel.

  Bodey and Winslow walked next to her, silent and somber, his hand clasping Winslow’s as he tried in vain to hold back his feelings. Maddy saw that he was failing. She touched his other hand and he grasped it in hers, giving it a squeeze. Life would somehow go on. She knew that. Had been told it by numerous people over the last week. Tried to believe, but it escaped her. She needed Jake and could still feel him. Something just wasn’t finished.

  Back at the house, family and friends ate her food, drank her wine, and talked quietly among themselves. Brief words of encouragement were given to her but, if someone asked, she couldn’t recall a single one. She knew they meant well, but she was numb. Nothing could get through. Nothing would get through.

  Nothing but Jake.

  The kids remained by her side for a time, but just as kids will do, they grew bored and found something to do or someone to play with. They wouldn’t grasp the full impact of Jake being gone for days yet. Sure, they knew he wasn’t here, but the questions would start later when he wasn’t there for dinner, or for soccer, or for a Saturday at the park. Maybe they would never know and somehow she thought that would be better.

  Peter came, as did Lucky and Ginny. She hugged them all, thanked them, and saw that the injuries suffered by Lucky did not thwart the look in his eye when he held Ginny’s hand or stood with his arm around her. She envied that. It wasn’t fair that she would have to suffer the aftermath of such a trauma by herself.

  A week after the funeral, she found herself at the lab door. Yellow safety tape was strung across the entrance, the lab deemed unsafe after the destructive forces of the portal closure. They had barely enough time to run out of the building before the violence of it tore the chamber, console, and computers apart. It was a miracle they had escaped in time and somehow, she liked to envision that Jake had something to do with that. He had held the destruction at bay until they were safe.

  She tore the tape away and pushed the door open. Broken glass crunched under her feet as she entered the lab. The devastation was total. The chamber was melted into a kind of pink slag that created shapes and slopes that looked obscene. The console was nothing but shredded plastic and particleboard. The computers held within it, a pile of wire and plastic and electronic chips. The life of the lab was gone though she felt a small piece of it lingering in the scent of the destruction. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she hadn’t realized she was crying until the sound of the drops falling to the rubble made small, wet, smacking noises that broke the silence. She sobbed then and sank to her knees as the pain of the loss overtook her. She didn’t know how long she stayed that way, but a little while later the noise of shuffling feet brought her out of the pain and she saw Bodey standing in the doorway with the sun framing him from behind. He walked to her and extended his hand. She took it and he helped her up.

  “I couldn’t stay away,” he said. “I had to come back and see for myself.”

  “I know,” she said. “I did too. It’s like I can’t make myself accept the fact that he’s gone and there’s no way to bring him back.”

  He nodded and a single tear wet his cheek, but he smiled at her anyway. “Glad to know that I’m not the only crazy one.”

  “I still feel him. Somehow, part of him is still here. I know it. He wouldn’t just leave me. He couldn’t.”

  “I know. That’s part of the reason I had to see today. I keep waking in the middle of the night and the lab is in my thoughts. I see it whole and functioning. Like it has always been here, undisturbed.”

  She looked away. “Am I a fool? He’s really gone isn’t he? We’re kidding ourselves, right?”

  He squeezed her hand and pulled her to him. She let him hold her and they both cried until a sound penetrated the moment. At first, she wasn’t sure what she was hearing. Maybe something outside finding its way to her ears. Then Bodey turned to the chamber and took a step away from her. It was music. Faint, but definitely there. Not a song she had heard on the radio, nothing classic from her studies in school, not a voice singing a melody she would recognize. It was a chord. Full and beautiful. One that no human could create. A sound so glorious it lifted from the ashes and floated to the ceiling where it grew louder and stronger and gripped them in its power, letting them feel.

  Letting them feel. A gift, she knew, and she knelt and wept as Bodey clasped her hand.

  A gift.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Richard C Hale has worn many hats in his lifetime including Greens Keeper, Bartender, Musician, Respiratory Therapist, and veteran Air Traffic Controller. You can usually find him controlling Air Traffic over the skies of the Southeastern U.S. where he lives with his wife and children.

  Drop by his website and give him a shout. He’d love to hear from you.

  www.richardchaleauthor.com

  Enjoy a preview of Richard C. Hale’s taught Thriller FROZEN PAST Available at Amazon.

  Prologue

  Stewy Littleton had stayed out too late. He didn’t know what happened or why he’d lost track of time, he just knew his mother was going to kill him. That was a certainty. In the whole of his twelve year old life, he’d never been this late.

  His costume was torn at one shoulder and the bag of candy he
carried was much too small for all the time he’d been out, so he knew his mother would know what he’d been up to. He would have some serious explaining to do.

  This was his last Halloween, the last time he would be allowed to roam the neighborhoods scaring the little kids and loading up on free candy. He was getting too old. He had wanted to make it the best Halloween ever. Now he’d had too much fun and was going to pay for it.

  He grinned to himself even though he knew he was in trouble. It had been worth it. His black outfit and white mask had made him almost impossible to see on the moonless night, at least until he’d wanted to be seen. The best part had been when he’d jumped out from behind a tree and made the little five year old kid dressed up as Spiderman pee his pants. A grown man probably would have screamed.

  The eggs he’d stolen out of the fridge hadn’t lasted very long, but Old Lady Whitney had gotten splattered by one when Stewy plastered her door as she opened it. The little kids waiting for her to give them candy had screamed and sprinted off. He laughed so hard he thought for sure she had heard him.

  Now, as he made his way through the dark empty streets, he tried to come up with an excuse. Everything his little mind thought of would not stand up to his mother’s questions and he began to realize he’d just have to live with whatever happened. He’d probably get put on restriction for a couple of weeks with no TV and no friends. Hopefully she would let him keep the candy.

  “Help me…”

  Stewy froze. The sound came from the bushes to his right. He waited and listened. It was so quiet. Nothing moved or made a sound. Maybe he had imagined it. As he took another step toward home, the voice came again, a little louder.

  “Help me…”

  Stewy knew he wasn’t imagining now. Somebody was definitely there, but it was so faint. The voice was weird and he couldn’t tell if it was a girl or a boy. It was like a whispered croak. A whispered croak of pain.

  “Who are you?” Stewy said softly, bent over, trying to see into the gloom of the hedge.

  “Help me…”

  The voice rasped the two words together like dry paper. Stewy shivered as a cold finger of fear ran up his spine. The voice was directly in front of him, but he could see nothing. He looked left, right, and then licked his lips not sure what to do. He waited a whole minute frozen there but nothing happened. His whole body listened, trying to hear the faintest sound, straining against the darkness and silence that pressed up against him.

  He finally said, “I can’t see you. Where are you?”

  The voice didn’t answer. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound. Stewy stood up straight, looked left and right again, and was about to take a step when the voice came again.

  “Help me…please.”

  Now the voice sounded different. Not so much in pain, but maybe a little like it was making fun of him. Stewy did not like it. In fact, he wanted to run.

  “Please…help.”

  “I can’t help you if I can’t see you,” Stewy said, his voice shaking. “Where are you?”

  “Right here.” the voice said, louder, a little titter of laughter trailing off at the end. Stewy frowned in puzzlement and he leaned in closer to the hedge, taking a step toward it. An arm shot out from inside the bushes and grabbed him by the hair. It yanked him hard into the hedge as a searing pain shot through Stewy’s scalp. He opened his mouth to scream but a large sweaty hand clamped over it, smashing his lips against his teeth, his scream a muffled gag as he was pinned to the ground. The hand came away and was immediately replaced with a rag that covered his mouth and nose. It smelled like some chemical. He didn’t want to breathe, but he couldn’t help it. The world he knew began to spin and then Stewy’s last Halloween blinked out like a switch.

  Chapter 1

  Luke Harrison knelt and packed the rectangular block of snow tightly against the previous block, making the wall he was building about six feet long.

  “That’s enough, isn’t it?” Luke said.

  “Yeah. That should do it,” Jimmy Besner said. Jimmy was the oldest of the three teenage boys and it usually fell to him to make the decisions.

  Jimmy’s brother, John, looked it over and said, “I don’t know? Looks lopsided over here.”

  “It’s fine,” Jimmy said.

  “I can’t make any more anyway,” Luke said. “My hands are freezing.”

  “Start making snowballs, then,” John said. “We didn’t have near enough last time.”

  “Why do I always have to make the snowballs, you guys never make ‘em.”

  “You’re the youngest. You make the snowballs,” Jimmy stated matter-of-factly.

  Luke cursed under his breath, but did what he was told. He also knew he was the best at it and this was why he always got the job.

  He could barely feel his fingers, even with the mittens on, and he blew into his hands trying to get some feeling back. It had been an unusually cold winter for Annandale, Virginia, but the plus had been lots of snow, and lots of snow days from school. Ninth grade was a pain and Luke hated it, so any chance to get out of it was the best thing that could happen.

  John came and knelt next to Luke and began making snowballs with him. Jimmy stood watch. The attack would be coming soon. They needed to be ready.

  The three of them had been in a constant war with the kids from Willow Branch Court, two blocks to the north. It was their turn to defend and so far the contest was tied. Two battles apiece. The problem was the kids from Willow Branch outnumbered them five to three. Luke didn’t care, he was better at throwing than all five of the attackers put together. They never even considered it unfair; it was just the way it was.

  The pile of snowballs grew to a decent number, but Luke knew they needed more. He hurried to make as many as he could, but then Jimmy yelled, “Here they come!” and jumped down behind the wall. He began forming snowballs and adding them to the pile as quickly as he could.

  Peering over the top of the wall, Luke got a good look at their opposition. He cursed. “Crap! They have a wagon full. We’re gonna get killed.”

  “Just ‘cause they have more doesn’t mean they’re any better than last time,” Jimmy said. “Now get down and make more.”

  Luke started forming snowballs as fast as his frozen hands would let him.

  “Do we make the special ones?” John asked.

  Jimmy paused for a second and said, “No. Paul got stitches last time. We fight fair.”

  The ‘special ones’ were snowballs with ice in the middle. They were very fast and highly accurate, but could put a serious hurt on someone. Namely, Paul Bannon. Paul started it by getting the Willow Branch kids to make a few and Jimmy was hit in his throwing arm, causing it to go numb. Luke, Jimmy, and John lost that battle.

  To get back at them, Jimmy made some for the next battle, and the three targeted Paul with the special snowballs. One nailed him right in the face. Paul ran home screaming with blood running down his chin and had to go to the emergency room where he received seven stitches. It was agreed upon after that, no one would use ice balls any more. This was supposed to be fun, after all.

  Luke peeked over the wall again. “They’re splitting up.”

  Jimmy stood and watched for a second. “Alright. Enough. We don’t have time for more. The wagon and three of them are moving toward our left, so John, you cover the right side, and me and Luke will cover the left. Make ‘em count.”

  The rules were simple, the team with the most hits won. If you were defending, you were not allowed out from behind your barrier. If you were attacking, you could basically do anything you wanted. There were no referees, so the teams had to agree upon the winner after the battle, and this sometimes resulted in a shouting match over who the victor was. The honor system worked for the most part, but kids will be kids.

  If you made a kid cry, the battle was over automatically, and the team with the crybaby lost. Because of this rule, both teams worked hard at making somebody bawl.

  Two premature snowballs sailed ove
r their heads and Luke grinned at Jimmy. “They suck!”

  Jimmy laughed as he hefted two snowballs in his hands. “Ready?”

  Luke nodded. “Yep,” John said.

  “Now!”

  All three stood as one and picked their targets. Luke saw Patrick Pemberton struggling with the wagon in the drifts of snow and aimed for his face. The first shot went wide right, but his second caught him in the neck. Patrick abandoned the wagon and ran for cover behind a tree a couple of feet away.

  “One!” Luke yelled.

  A snowball whizzed over his head, and he ducked down and grabbed two more. Jimmy knelt down and was hit in the top of his head as he grabbed for more. The other team yelled, “One!”

  John yelled, “Two!” and then a second later, “Three!” and started laughing.

  Snowballs were flying in all directions and it was hard for Luke to stay up for more than a second or two. Jimmy was whipping his arm in a frenzy, and John couldn’t stop laughing. Luke caught a slushy one in the chin. His face stung but he didn’t care. He pegged Patrick twice more and he and Jimmy hit Alan Grimes at the same time. They both yelled “Twelve!” together, then Luke grinned and yelled “Thirteen!”

  The pile of snowballs was shrinking and Jimmy told Luke to make more. The wagon the other team had was still half full but lay in the open, stuck in the drifts. The other team had to break cover to get to their hoard, and every time they did someone would get pelted. Luke’s team was leading thirteen to seven.

  Luke started scraping the ground. Dirt was showing in places and Luke couldn’t leave the cover of the wall for more snow. He shifted over to the right to dig deeper and began frantically scraping snow into a pile.