Old Tom puts the cap back on the globe. “More people started coming into the school after the game, so I decided I’d have to wait to grab you. I wrote the note and put it in your locker, assuming you’d think it was from Michael. And after school you came, just like I knew you would.”
On Bopton, insanity was weeded out long ago through the evolutionary process. Boptons are intelligent, level-headed, and most of all, logical. But over the course of my research on Earth, I had read several articles about the mentally ill. As Old Tom glares at me, I wonder if this is what insanity looks like. Or if perhaps Old Tom is a person that has just been pushed too far. Either way, I know one thing for sure. The man in front of me is not in a rational state of mind. The man in front of me is unstable.
Old Tom takes a deep breath and resumes his speech. “About a year ago, something happened to me, something I can’t really remember. It comes in flashes, usually in my dreams. I can see a ship. And a flashing red light. And I remember being tied down. But other than that, the details aren’t clear. I’m sure your friends meant to erase my memory entirely, but they didn’t succeed. And when I came back, I knew there were others among us. Extraterrestrials. Aliens.” He spits out the word as if it tastes bad in his mouth. “I started to do some research.” He points to the back wall behind him. “And I found out that there were so many signs that we aren’t alone in this universe, things that have happened over the years that show us that we should be on high alert, that we should be preparing. But only a small percentage of the population seems to believe these signs, or even care. It’s a shame, really. I decided that what the world needed was physical, undeniable proof.”
He gives me a smile, rising from his stool. “That’s what you are.”
A cold chill runs down my spine and I picture myself being blinded by a thousand camera flashes, all of them capturing the image of the first alien ever found on Earth.
“Now, I don’t know exactly how that potion of yours works, but I know if I keep you here long enough, eventually you’ll turn back into whatever it is you really are. And then…” He goes back over to the string connected to the light bulb. “Then we’re going to have us a little public meeting. Once the press have documented your existence and have undeniable proof, I’m going to tell everyone that some government agents are on their way to pick you up.”
Seeing my eyes widen with obvious fear, Old Tom lets out a humorless chuckle. “Don’t worry. You won’t be subjected to the kind of experiments that were performed on me. No, you and I are going to take a walk in the woods. And only one of us is going to walk out. Now, believe me, I’ll get no pleasure out of it. But I can’t risk you reporting back to your people. There’s no choice, really.” Turning off the light, he leaves me alone in the basement, staring helplessly after his retreating form as the sun goes down and the blackness closes in.
* * *
Times stretches on, ping-ponging between day and night. Old Tom apparently decided that he can’t have his prize dying of dehydration before the appointed time, so he brings down a cup of water three times a day, along with either a bit of bread he feeds to me or a bowl of soup he shovels into my mouth. He doesn’t talk to me anymore, but he does flash a light in my face from time to time, inspecting my skin color for changes. Every time he finds my skin retaining its fleshy hue, he grunts in displeasure, no doubt eager to parade me to the world as a monster.
The first few days, I remain fairly optimistic. After all, the police should be looking for me by now, and as long as they find me before Friday, everything should be fine. Someone must have seen Old Tom take me, I tell myself. There must be some clues left behind to show where I’ve been taken. But as the days wear on, it becomes harder and harder to cling to hope.
During the day, the house is unnervingly quiet. Old Tom must still be working at the school, in order to not arouse suspicions. The only sounds I hear when he’s gone are the sounds of cars passing on the road. Or birds chirping their annoying songs. Or solicitors ringing the doorbell, only to go away when nobody answers. Every time the door rings, I try to shout through the gag. I struggle against my bonds; one time, I manage to knock my chair over. Old Tom was not happy when he found me afterwards.
In the evening, when Old Tom is home, I can hear his footsteps above, causing the floor to groan as he moves through the house. I hear the sound of a television playing game shows. But I never hear another voice. Old Tom doesn’t seem to have any friends.
I spend my time having alternating fantasies, one of my exposure to the world and the trip to the woods that will follow. In the other fantasy, I imagine myself making a heroic escape, breaking free from my bonds and crawling through the small window to freedom. As Friday nears, I realize Old Tom has not considered one very important detail. When my body changes, the ropes will no longer hold me. I’ll have a small window of opportunity to break free, but in my true form and without my globe. I’m not sure how far I’ll make it before someone catches me.
On what I believe is Thursday, as I’m plotting the most efficient way to get out of the house, the basement dims as if a cloud is passing over the sun. Glancing at the window, I see that a shadow is blocking out the light, but it definitely is not a cloud. It’s a pair of legs and two very familiar looking shoes.
Ned’s face appears in the window, his hand cupped over his eyes to see inside, and my stomach twists. Arching my back as much as I can, I use any momentum I can get to move the chair a few inches forward. Ned spots me and his eyes widen. He gestures to someone and two more heads appear in the tiny window. Izzy and Michael.
It’s sometime in the evening, and upstairs I hear the TV blaring out the sounds of a show I’ve heard the title of shouted for the past three nights—Wheel of Fortune. Fortunately, Old Tom must be hard of hearing, which means the TV may drown out any noise coming from the basement.
Izzy says something to Michael and Ned, and their heads disappear. She wrestles with the window for a few minutes until I hear a loud pop that signals the latch must have finally given way. Izzy sticks her head through the window.
“Hey!” she whispers, craning her neck as far as it will go. “Are you all right?”
I shake my head and she apparently remembers that I’m gagged.
“Oh, right,” she says. “Michael’s calling the police right now. We’ll get you out of there in no time.”
Ned squeezes his head through the window. “I can’t believe that nut job actually kidnapped you. He’s crazy. I-I mean, we always knew he was crazy, but he must be really, really nuts to do something like this.”
Footsteps creak from above; Old Tom must be on the move. I’ve never wanted to talk to someone as much as I want to talk to Izzy, Ned, and Michael right now. There’s so much to explain. So much they need to know.
The footsteps stop, and I realize the house has gone quiet. Too quiet.
“Don’t worry, Felix. Everything is going—” Ned’s voice breaks off as two rough hands yank him and Izzy from the window. Expecting shouts or sounds of a struggle, the silence that follows is terrifying.
After a few minutes, multiple footsteps echo down from above my head. The basement door opens and four sets of shoes make their way down the stairs. Old Tom has his rifle raised, pointed at his newest prisoners’ heads.
Ned, Izzy, Michael—I am so sorry.
* * *
Old Tom pulls over three wooden chairs that were stacked against the wall. His eyes trained on Izzy, Michael, and Ned, he ducks underneath the staircase and retrieves thick lines of rope. Handing the rope to Michael, he looks at Izzy and gestures to one of the chairs.
“Sit,” he commands, redirecting the gun so it is level with her brow. Begrudgingly, Izzy sits down on the chair and crosses her arms defiantly.
“You,” he points the rifle at Michael now. “Tie her up. And don’t even think of trying anything funny. I’ll be checking your work when you finish.”
Michael shuffles forward, giving Izzy an apologetic glance as he go
es to grab one of her arms. She yanks her arm from his grasp and sets them both behind the back of the chair. She glares at Old Tom the entire time, her chin held high.
After tying up Izzy, Old Tom makes Michael do the same to Ned. He checks Michael’s work, tightening the ropes, but never takes his hand off the rifle for more than a few seconds. He orders Michael to sit in the last chair but doesn’t bother tying him up. Old Tom keeps the gun aimed at Michael, the only one with his limbs free, while circling the rest of us.
“You’ll never get away with this,” Ned says, trying to sound confident despite the slight tremor to his voice. “They’re going to find you.”
“My plan was never to get away with anything,” Old Tom says. “I just want people to know the truth.”
Izzy and Ned look confused, but Michael slides his eyes over to meet mine.
“The truth about what?” Izzy asks.
“Oh, you’ll see soon enough. You’ll have a front row seat.” Old Tom reaches into his back pocket and pulls out my globe. “I’ll give you a hint, though. It has something to do wi—”
He’s cut off as the door to the basement bursts open, and police officers swarm down the stairs.
“Put your hands up!” one of the police officers demands, reaching the bottom of the stairs.
Dropping my globe, Old Tom places both hands in the air. I watch as it rolls a few feet away, coming to a stop between two boxes. Backing up a few steps, Old Tom stammers out a plea.
“But you don’t understand. It’s the boy. He’s an alien—I swear it. You have to let me show you!”
Disgusted, an officer puts Old Tom’s arms behind his back and places him in handcuffs. “Tom Golinger, I’m placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent—”
“But I saw him change the other day. That isn’t really what he looks like. It’s some kind of disguise.” Desperate, Old Tom searches for Michael in all the commotion, who is now on his feet. “He knows.” Old Tom jerks his head at Michael. “That boy right there. He saw it, too. He can tell you. I’m not crazy. I’m not.”
Michael stares him straight in the eyes and then turns to the officer. “I have no idea what he’s talking about,” Michael says, and Old Tom begins to struggle.
“He’s lying! Just look for the globe. There’s some sort of alien potion in it.” His eyes search the basement floor, and I glance over to where the globe had fallen. It’s gone. Meeting Michael’s steady stare, he gives me a slight nod.
“All right, buddy. That’s enough of your stories. You’re coming with us.” The policeman hauls Old Tom up the stairs, and eventually his shouts fade away. A female officer with a concerned expression comes over and unties me while her partners untie the others. My shoulders ache from being held in such an awkward position for so long. I roll them a couple of times, trying to ease the discomfort. Standing up, I find that my legs are a bit shaky. I take a few steps forward and Izzy pummels me with a hug, knocking both of us to the ground.
“Iz, get off him,” Ned says, extending his hands to pull both of us up. When I’m on my feet, he socks me in the arm. “Glad you’re all right.”
“How did you find me?” I ask, rubbing my arm where he punched it.
“It was Michael,” Izzy says, nodding in Michael’s direction.
Michael chews his lip for a moment before responding. “After you disappeared, I remembered seeing Old Tom in the school the other day, you know, after the game. He had this really weird look in his eyes when he looked at you, even weirder than normal. At first, I thought maybe it was nothing, but when you still were gone after a few days, I mentioned it to these two.” He claps a hand on Izzy and Ned’s shoulders. “And we decided to check it out for ourselves. Good thing we did, I guess.”
“Yeah, good thing,” I echo, giving him a smile.
“So you have to tell us everything,” Izzy insists. “From the beginning.”
“I can’t believe that dude actually thought you were an alien,” Ned says. Michael and I exchange a look.
Before I can begin my story, another one of the police officers approaches us. “Come on, kids. We’re going to need you to come with us. We have some questions for you to answer.” We follow him up the staircase, and Michael moves into step beside me. Discreetly, he presses something into the palm of my hand. Feeling its familiar, circular shape, I close my hand around my globe.
CHAPTER 18
After Aunt Shirley and Uncle Matt picked me up from the police station, they made me rest in bed for the entire weekend. Reporters kept coming to the house trying to get an interview, but Aunt Shirley just shooed them away, telling them to “leave her poor nephew alone.”
I made sure the police knew that Old Tom didn’t actually hurt me while I was at his house. Even knowing all that he had planned to do, part of me still feels guilty about what happened. After all, I am an alien. Aunt Shirley says Old Tom will most likely be placed in a facility to receive medical help. Thinking back to his rambling in the hallways and all the clippings on the walls, I hope they can convince him to let go of his obsession. I’ve come to the conclusion that it is better for everyone when humans simply don’t believe that aliens exist.
I’m getting ready for school on Monday when there’s a knock at the front door. Opening it, I find a man in a black suit standing there on the porch. Immediately, my chest tightens and I call for Aunt Shirley.
“Can I help you?” Aunt Shirley asks as she ambles up to the door, spatula still in hand. Her red hair is piled messily on top of her head and she’s wearing an apron that says, “Aunts know best.”
“I actually just have to ask your nephew a few questions.” He flashes a badge that says FBI. Aunt Shirley places a protective hand on my arm.
“Okay. Come in,” she says warily, motioning for the man to follow her. We head over to the living room, and Aunt Shirley and I take a seat on the couch. The man in black sits on the overstuffed chair across from us, though he keeps his back straight and doesn’t lean back into the cushion. He looks incredibly out of place.
“So,” he says, taking out a small pad of paper and a pen. “Felix Winters. You were recently kidnapped by Tom Golinger, were you not?”
“Yes,” I say, all of sudden unsure of what to do with my hands. Do I keep them at my sides? Put them on my lap? On my legs? Nothing seems natural, but I don’t want to seem fidgety, so I cross my arms.
“And when Mr. Golinger abducted you, he told you it was because he thought you were an alien?”
“Yes.”
“Had you had much interaction with Mr. Golinger before the kidnapping?”
“No. I saw him around the school, but we never talked.”
The man in the black suit nods, as if my answers are what he expected. Then he leans forward, a gleam in his eye.
“I just have one more question for you. Mr. Golinger claimed that you possessed a globe with some extraterrestrial fluid in it. However, no one ever recovered this so-called globe at the scene. Do you have any idea where it is?”
I think of my globe, locked safely away in the small safe I purchased with allowance money. I put the safe in a box and stored it among all the other boxes in the basement. Every Friday, I will just go down there to take the serum and lock it back up. I used to believe it was safer to have the globe on me at all times, but after everything that has happened, I figure it is much safer tucked away in the basement. Only Michael knows I have it; I told everyone else that I didn’t know what happened to it.
Looking at the man in black, I put on my most solemn face. “No, I don’t have any idea where it is.”
The man leans back in the chair for a moment before scribbling a quick note on his pad. He exhales and rises from the chair. “I see,” he says, heading for the door. “Well, if you think of anything we should know, give me a call.” He places a card on the front table next to the door. And without a backward glance, he leaves, closing the door firmly behind him.
* * *
The next few mont
hs are a blur of school and home. To summarize: Hanging out with Izzy and Ned. Homework. Hanging out with Izzy and Ned. Sleep. Hanging out with Izzy and Ned. Tutoring Michael. Hanging out with Izzy and Ned.
Michael and I have become closer, though neither of us ever mentions the globe, the kidnapping, or what Michael saw that day after the game. Unfortunately, he still hangs out with Curtis and Cameron, despite my suggestion that he find better company. However, shortly after the kidnapping, Curtis and Cameron stopped harassing me, or at least they only harass me as much as they do any other kid in the school, which is an improvement. I don’t know what Michael said or did to get them to stop, but I’m definitely grateful.
Eventually, the day and time comes to remove the book containing the single piece of Bopton technology on Earth, the Helomax, from under my mattress. I never ended up finding a better spot for it; my safe was too small and under the bed ended up being as safe a place as any. It’s late at night when I remove it. I had been watching the clock tick from minute to minute until finally the time arrived.
I examine the piece of equipment as I remove it from the book. It looks like a plain black square, similar to what my tablet looks like when it’s turned off. However, when the clock strikes midnight, the square begins lighting up, emitting a few whirling sounds like a soft siren as it gears up for communication.
Home. It’s the first time in months I will have any communication at all with my kind, even if it’s only in the form of one question I need to answer. The question appears in the air above the square, like the holograms that used to swirl above my bed. It’s a multiple choice question and I’ve been given three options to choose from. My eyes scan the first two answers before settling on the third. I try not to think of what my father is going to think when he sees my answer.
Lifting my hand, I select the third option, which reads, “Need more data.” I guess I won’t be heading home as soon as originally planned. The black square gives me a new date and time to report my findings before shutting down. I place the Helomax back into the book and stuff it under my mattress, where it forms a familiar lump underneath me.
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