But the darkness was growing, covering the world. And Cole knew that sometime soon he’d have to step back into it. For now, he needed to understand, and so he asked another question. “You said something about the fetus. Implantation, you said. What does that mean?”
“Oh, yeah,” Pooch answered sadly. “Dat’s what so piss me off. De little boy Jack. He is not all human, eh? Poor leetle bugger.”
8.4
“Man!” Cole yawned. The food, beer and radiant heat had gone straight to his head and he was struggling to stay awake. He stood and stretched. “I shouldn’t have had that second beer.”
Pooch raised his bottle in salute. “The gods think maybe you should rest, eh?” he said.
Cole shook his head, trying to dispel his weariness. It would not so easily surrender. “Yeah. A little nap might not be a bad idea.” He sat back down, avoiding Linda’s eyes. The thought of lying down for a nap set his heart pounding, because he imagined lying next to her. He tamped the image down. He had to be smart and stay on task. He looked at Keeley. “So tell us how these People can know where Linda is. How do they get into her head? Do you understand how that all works?”
Keeley shrugged. “I know what I’ve read. And I know what I’ve experienced. But all I’m doing is guessing, really.”
“Guesses are better than nothing,” said Linda.
Keeley nestled her head in the crook of Pooch’s arm and took his hand in hers. Chapin and Betty slept in a pile at her feet and she reached out to rub them with her toes. “I imagine it’s like out of body travel. Or remote viewing. These ‘People,’ these agents, go into a deep trance and their consciousness leaves their body and they go do whatever they need to do. They probably have some way of homing in on Linda’s energy. Some knowledge of her pattern or something. So they can get to her instantly. I read once that important people, like Presidents, often have, like, psychic guardians, you know? Like an out-of-body Secret Service detail that stands guard over their psyches. So maybe they watch you and follow you and get inside of you all the time.”
“But it makes a difference whether I’m sleeping or not,” said Linda. Stiffly she rolled around and got on her knees, then stood, letting the blood flow back into her legs. She’d sat on the floor all through their meal. Now she needed the comfort of the other club chair. And she needed to concentrate. “So, they can follow me when I’m awake, but they can’t get into my head?”
“Probably. On one of my astral journeys I visited my sister, Beth. She was awake, sitting on her sofa and knitting while watching a movie. But she knew I was there. She looked up at me and said ‘Hi, Sis.’ And she reminded me about my niece’s birthday. All while her body kept knitting and watching TV. Her waking self wasn’t aware of me. When I called her the next morning, she didn’t remember a thing. So, it’s like, there’s all these layers going on at once.” Keeley laughed. “The language gets really convoluted, doesn’t it?”
Cole agreed. “So when Linda’s awake, Rice and those guys can view her from the outside, and even talk with her from the outside? Without her even knowing it? But they can’t get into her thoughts and know what she knows?”
“I guess,” answered Keeley. “But my experience is that this other realm – Itzhak Bentov calls it the astral – or maybe it’s more like that physicist … what’s his name?” She looked to Pooch, and then recovered his name herself. “Bohm. David Bohm. It’s like Bohm’s implicate order. All this quantum stuff, this whole realm, it’s really confusing. Like, I didn’t recognize Beth until she spoke to me. I couldn’t tell I was in her living room, even though I’d been there many times. And I couldn’t see what movie she was watching. There was just this energy thing, almost like a volcano, spewing out these hot, toxic gasses, and I just knew it was a TV. It’s all so … different. It’s vibration and thought and energy and color and movement and it really takes some focus to map that onto the physical realm and move around with any sense of where you’re going, without just getting totally lost. So, like, even if this Rice fucker is hovering right here in the room with us, he’s probably pretty limited in what he can know.”
“Unless Linda goes to sleep without her pills,” Cole added.
“Right. Unless that. We seem to be most vulnerable when we’re asleep.”
Cole shifted in his chair, a hidden fear rumbling through his body before coming to consciousness. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and the words came to him. “And you say maybe Grace … that this is where she’s been when she was so deeply asleep?”
Keeley leaned toward him. “Yeah, Cole. That might be what happened. When the Nabbers are around, people just get caught up in it.” She breathed deeply, resonating with Cole’s fear. “It’s really scary, isn’t it? Your little girl—”
Cole jerked his arms up in defense as both dogs started furiously barking. The two Border Collies leapt to their feet and raced from window to window around the living room. The protectiveness in their voices was palpable. Keeley pushed forward to stand but Pooch held her back, gesturing with a hand for her to wait a moment. He got up and checked the windows, but saw nothing that could have set the dogs off. He watched as they circled and barked, then raised his voice just enough to be heard. “Enough, eh?” he said. The dogs stopped barking immediately but remained on alert. Betty headed straight to Linda’s chair and sat before her, watching over the four of them. Chapin slowly circled the room. Pooch sat back down.
“Whew!” said Cole.
“Sorry,” answered Keeley. “That’s their way of saying ‘get lost.’”
“Pretty effective,” said Linda.
“That’s why we have ‘em.” Keeley settled back into her husband’s embrace. “Chapin’s got a nose for Nabbers.”
Linda noticed how gentle Pooch was with Keeley. The love between them felt as hot and fierce as the fire in the wood stove. She remembered how it had felt, to have that with Earl: that sense of being known so deeply that there was nothing left to hide. What a relief that had been. Keeley and Pooch had that. But there was something else between them, something in their eyes when they looked at each other. As if they shared a secret they dared not tell. Or a grief. Or a terror. It would flit across Keeley’s face like a moth on a bulb. And it fueled the good cheer that Pooch exuded, as if he could sacrifice himself on the altar of hospitality and courage to save them all, as if he could drive out his hidden sadness like the Jøtul drove out the cold. Linda doubted that she would ever know that secret. There simply wasn’t time.
“So they probably have your mother on some sort of sedative,” Keeley said, interrupting Linda’s thoughts.
“I’m sorry?” said Linda, confused.
“Didn’t you say she’s in some non-existent hospital? Your mom? She was probably guarding you in the astral realm. Probably wasn’t even aware of it. But they took her out.”
Linda pulled her feet up, warming her toes in the chair cushion. She sighed thickly, giving up any hope of understanding or control. There was just too much they didn’t know. “You think she’s okay?” she finally asked, her eyes pleading.
“They wouldn’t hurt their best bargaining chip, Cornfed. Don’t you worry.”
Cole rolled out of his chair and onto his knees, curling up on the rug next to Betty. He patted the floor and Betty sank down beside him, twisting a bit for maximum contact. Cole flopped his arm over Betty’s belly and closed his eyes. Just for a few minutes. That was all he needed. He was so tired.
Linda smiled weakly. “Thanks, Vinegar. I hope you’re right.” She watched quietly as Pooch got up to lay another log on the fire and then step out onto the front porch, Chapin at his heels. Keeley rose and went to the kitchen, returning with a teapot to place on the woodstove before settling back into her spot on the sofa. The two women sighed as one, holding each other’s eyes with love and regret and glad hearts, re-forging the connection so long broken. We hold secrets together too, Linda thought, Keeley and I. Their cold, strange nights together in the dominion of the aliens ha
d bonded them in ways neither distance nor decades could erase or interrupt.
Pooch and Chapin came back in from outside. Pooch walked up behind Linda and put his huge hand on her head. “De clouds are moving in t’night, eh?” he whispered.
“Everything quiet out there?” asked Keeley.
Pooch nodded. “Is quiet fer now,” he whispered again. “Maybe some t’under an’ rain later. I put in de goats.”
Linda looked up. “Why are you whispering?”
Pooch grinned and pointed down. Cole was asleep on the floor.
8.5
Emily lay curled up with Dennis, stroking his fur, her eyes closed. Grace sat in the chair at the foot of the bed, watching them. It felt right to her, that Emily should protect Dennis now. Dennis needed it, and Grace needed to take care of herself. She took another bite of the grilled cheese sandwich that Cat had brought her, washing it down with a big gulp of milk. She could feel how much her body loved it. She was thankful. She’d been so hungry.
Emily opened one eye. “You okay?” she asked.
Grace nodded, speaking around another bite. “I feel good,” she said. “Are you okay?” She noted a sensation in her body, a warmth in her chest as she looked at her sister, as if they were connected heart to heart. It occurred to her that this was love, but it did not occur to her how strange it was that she thought this. She could not see how her older soul had followed her back to this physical life, as if those separate selves had newly coalesced in this small human body. And she could not feel how, already, she was sinking back into the limited mind of that child.
“I’m worried about Dennis,” said Emily.
Grace could see that worry in her sister’s face, but she did not share it. It was odd for Dennis to be sleeping like this, sure, but she could sense that he was fine. She just knew. “He’ll be okay,” she said, understanding that Emily would still be afraid.
“I hope so.”
“I was asleep,” Grace offered as justification. She’d awakened, hadn’t she? They’d told her she slept most of the day. And yet she was fine, right? Grace stopped and scanned her body. She smiled. Yes. She was more than fine. “You wanna hear my dream?” she asked. Emily loved stories.
Emily sighed and closed her eyes. “Okay.”
“I met the Little Prince,” Grace said.
Emily opened her eyes just enough to roll them. “Right,” she said.
“No, really.” Grace put the last bite of grilled cheese into her mouth and swallowed it. “I was taking a walk with Dennis and we were standing outside this old farmhouse and the Little Prince came and asked us what we were doing. I told him we were guarding the house and the Little Prince said that he would guard it for us for a while so that I could go home and rest. And he was so nice, and he really wanted to help, so I let him.”
“That’s a pretty weird dream, Gracie,” Emily said, smiling.
“Oh, and Dennis said he wanted to stay and play with the Little Prince. So he did.”
“Dennis talked in your dream?”
“Yeah. And you know what?”
“What?”
“The Little Prince’s name is Jack.”
Chapter Nine
9.1
The fact that Rice was taking a Coast Guard boat filled him with delight. And that this particular boat was a twenty-five foot Zodiac that they called a “Short Range Prosecutor” was perfect. He wasn’t sure why, really. He knew the President wasn’t at her cottage on the Squirrel. That fucking bitch had duped them all. He knew he had to get back to Vermont as soon as possible. But there was something he needed to do first. Short Range Prosecutor: he liked the sound of that.
The lights of Boothbay Harbor receded behind him as he pushed the small craft southward. He smiled to himself, thinking back on his conversation with Bob. He’d commandeered the OC’s office – some Bos’n’s-Petty-what-the-fuck with a bad crew cut and cheese for brains – sat at the fucker’s desk with his feet up, and made his call in style. When you’re a Secret Service agent and the President has a retreat nearby, you get to do shit like that. When the President has been kidnapped by terrorists, you get to do pretty much whatever the fuck you want.
Bob had been so excited. She’d finally caught a break. Their infonets had unearthed a uniform in Vermont who’d reported a suspicious incident involving a white Subaru Forester and a tanker truck explosion. The police report had a plate number that lead to some fuckwit named Cole Thomas who lived just around the corner from where they’d found Ma Kettle’s ride. A couple of tech-supports wokked out and pillaged the house, bringing back enough bio for Bob to get a make on his pattern. She was on him like a yuppie on a gingerbread latte. Fuck Linda Travis and her goddamned pills; Bob now had a back door. He was sitting right next to the good Mrs. President. And clearly they weren’t at the Squirrel. So where were they?
Rice laughed as he rounded the point, his progress slowly revealing the sparse lights of Squirrel Island. He could just picture Bob stalking them, hovering right in their midst: the President and her hero and whoever the fuck those other two were. The woman was talking about “oh how confusing the astral realm was,” and Bob was right there, laughing in her face the whole time. The bitch didn’t have a fucking clue. Bob buzzed the dogs, making them crazy with rage. She loved that part. And she had to scare off a neomorph. But, God, it must have been a blast. Almost worth the puking.
And then the hero falls asleep and gives them all away…. Priceless.
Rice laughed out loud and gunned the engine as the water opened up around him. There was little boat activity this time of night, which was nice. Less to cover up. He checked his watch. At top speed it would take him about six minutes. Tie up to the dock. A ten-minute walk to the cottage. Maybe twelve. Twenty minutes tops. Surely he could spare twenty minutes?
His mission played out just as he’d imagined. Nineteen minutes later he rang the front doorbell, still not exactly sure why he was there. His gaze wandered up to the night sky as he waited. Clear just overhead, but a line of clouds spilling in from the west. It was probably already raining in Vermont. He noticed the wok parked in front of the garage. They were tracking him. Of course. Rice smirked. Finally he was getting some decent backup. And this was a seventeen-footer with a bubble, not one of those cramped twelves with nothing but a helmet. The seventeens could blind an Angel. The General must have been as pleased with Bob’s success as Rice was.
The front porch light clicked on and Rice turned to the opening door. “Mr. Edmonton?” said Fred, rubbing at his eyes. The sole winter caretaker of the President’s favorite summer retreat must have been asleep in front of the goddamned television.
Rice stepped in and with a quick jab crushed the old man’s windpipe. The President’s dear old friend fell to the floor like a steer in an abattoir. Rice rubbed his hand as he repeatedly kicked Fred’s body, slowly pushing it far enough inside that he could close the door. He flicked off the porch light and headed toward the wok, hoping he remembered how to start the damned thing. The controls, designed by beings from another galaxy, were not exactly intuitive.
He stopped for a moment for one last look at the sky. He sighed deeply. He felt much better now, even though his knuckles hurt like hell. His hand was no bolt pistol. Next time, maybe he’d use a gun.
Short Range Prosecutor. Indeed.
9.2
“Let me look,” said Linda, pushing Keeley’s hand away. She swung around to stare in the mirror, plucked at her new bangs. “Jesus, I look like Liza Minnelli.”
“Oh, you do not!” said Keeley, swinging Linda back around. “You look like Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina.” She snipped at the edges near the President’s ears, then stood back to assess her work. “You’re beautiful.”
“Can we make it any darker?”
Keeley shook her head. “This’ll have to do, sweetie. It’s all I got.”
Linda stood and brushed the clippings from her red sweater. “We’ll have to do the rest with make-up and clothes.”
/> “Yep. Get some old hippie threads on you. A few layers. Some scarves. Something with a hood. Ain’t nobody gonna notice you.”
Cole stepped into the bathroom and smiled. “You look great,” he said.
Linda chucked him on the shoulder as she stepped out into the hallway. “Yeah, well, you got it easy, mister. Nobody knows what you look like.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” said Keeley, starting toward the kitchen. “Pooch!” she called ahead of her. “You off the phone?”
Pooch stepped into the hallway, another beer in hand. “Is all set,” he said.
“You gotta quit drinking those, baby. You gotta drive!”
Pooch’s face melted, as though he’d just failed her miserably. “I’m trying to make it not hurt so much, eh?” he said, a plea for understanding. Keeley swept him up in her arms and buried her face in his neck, discharging her dread in quiet tremors and mute weeping. Pooch handed Cole his beer and engulfed her in his arms. “I will drive so safely, mon cœur,” he cooed. “They will make it. I know dis, eh? They will make it.”
Keeley pushed herself away and wiped her face with her sleeve. “I know, baby.” She strode past him and into the living room. “It’s all gonna be okay.” She found her purse at the end of the couch and rummaged for her keys. She looked up at her husband. “Everything’s set with Elly?”
“He is leaving dere now,” he said. “He will wait where we said.”
Keeley nodded and turned to Linda. “And this Legrand. You know he’s in Ottawa right now? Parliament’s in session?”
‘Well, it’s not like I could call ahead and tell him I’m coming. But I saw him just a week ago and he said he was headed home for the fall session.”
“And you know where he lives?”
“Jesus, Keeley!” Linda said, harshly. “I don’t know anything! But he’s all we got, you know? You got a better idea just say so!”
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