by Mae Clair
Immediately a barrage of sensation struck him—indignation, anger, a hunger to hurt and punish, a primal need to terrify. The feelings were not meant for him but for Lyle.
Wearily, Caden scrubbed a hand across his cheek, flecking dried blood to the ground. “It wasn’t his fault. Someone from your planet altered his mind.” He spoke aloud, uncertain if the creature understood him.
It made a hissing noise.
He wondered how far away Lyle had parked. How long he’d have to flounder in the dark before he discovered Mason’s car.
The Mothman hissed again.
He lifted his head and looked into its eyes. Its wingtips rustled.
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
The thing shrieked.
Caden jerked to his feet, the creature’s scream like the razor cut of a sharp knife. Ryan and Lach Evening burst from the trees on his right, Ryan trailing behind.
“Caden.” His brother raced to his side, gripped him tightly by his good arm. Ryan swept the beam of his flashlight from his cut check to his blood-soaked jacket. “Oh, man, brother, you look a mess. How bad?”
“It’s a graze. Looks worse than it is.”
“Where’s Mason?” Evening asked.
Caden jerked his head toward the igloo. The blond-haired man dashed toward the opening and disappeared inside.
Ryan used the flashlight to examine Caden’s arm. “You were lucky.”
“Yeah. Hurts like hell, though.”
“My patrol car is back that way.” Ryan hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I can radio ahead to have triage ready at the hospital.” He paused, searching Caden’s face. “Are you injured anywhere else?”
“Just battered and bruised, and I took a whack to the back of the head.” He glanced to the side, starting abruptly when he realized the Mothman had disappeared. “Hey, where’d it go?” Somehow the cryptid had vanished without the usual fanfare of droning and wing-buffeting. He spun on his heel, nearly stumbling in his haste to look behind him.
Ryan gripped him under the arm to hold him steady. “Would you believe the damn thing led us here? Evening summoned it somehow and communicated with it. We followed in my car.”
“How’d you know I was missing in the first place?”
“Cop’s intuition.” Ryan looked around at the cluster of trees penning in the igloo. “It must have walked away, Caden. I got the impression it was, um…ticked off, that Lyle might have hurt you. There is some really weird protective thing going on there.”
“I don’t want to think about it now.” Caden’s head was pounding.
Evening stepped from the igloo, leading a docile-looking Lyle by the arm. He stationed Mason to the left of the doorway, then quietly instructed him to remain there until summoned. Lyle’s eyes were glazed, his face slack and expressionless.
“What’d you do to him?” Ryan asked as Evening approached. “Put him in some kind of trance?”
“That’s exactly what I did, Sergeant Flynn. It’s necessary until I can return him to Austin. At that point, I’ll repair his mind and wipe everything that has happened from his memory since he returned to Point Pleasant.”
Caden frowned. “How are you going to explain that to the people he interacted with here? Lyle might forget, but they’ll remember.”
Evening tilted his head to the side, his expression complacent. “I’ll tell your sheriff I was mistaken about the identity of the man who escaped, and place a post-suggestion in his mind that he accepts my account as factual.”
Ryan looked appalled. “You can do that?”
“And more. Sheriff Weston will relay the information to the rest of the men under his jurisdiction. The only people Mr. Mason interacted with are his cousin, Darrell, who I already saw and addressed earlier today, and Ms. Lynch.”
Ryan stepped in front of him. “You will not mess with her head.”
“You want her to retain her memory, as the two of you?”
“Absolutely.”
Evening seemed to consider.
“Lach,” Caden said quietly. “You owe us that much.”
“Perhaps I do. Very well. You and your brother”—his gaze shifted to Ryan—“as well as Ms. Lynch, are the only ones who will retain any memory of the events. In time, word will spread through the town that Mr. Mason was never here, and that the reports were merely rumors in error.”
“Eve retains her memories too.” Caden had no intention of relenting on that point.
Evening frowned his displeasure. “More loose ends.”
“Eve is my fiancée and knows your true identity. We’re in this together.”
“You told her?”
“I did.”
A flicker of displeasure passed through Evening’s eyes, but after a pause, he consented. “Very well.”
Caden nodded his appreciation. As tired as he was, something else struck him. “Hey. It’s got to be after eleven.”
“Eleven fifty-six to be precise.” Evening did not glance at a watch or explain how he knew.
Regardless, Caden believed him. “That means we missed Indrid Cold’s passage into this world.” Exhaling in defeat, he rubbed the back of his neck. “I wonder if Jerome sat outside waiting for your father to show up.” He looked meaningfully at Evening.
“He would have been wasting his time.”
“Why?” Ryan asked.
“Because it was not the correct location.”
“You knew that?” A twinge of irritation rippled through Caden. “Why didn’t you tell us where he’d be if you knew?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You’re not making sense,” Ryan snapped.
Evening drew a breath to explain, but there was nothing self-centered in the pause, as Caden would have determined when they first met. “There was never a location in the code, because the site was not up to my father. He planned to appear wherever the Mothman was at that precise moment.”
Caden exchanged a glance with his brother. “But that would have placed him somewhere with—”
“Us.” Ryan finished the thought. He looked at Evening. “My best guess puts the time close to when you and I were in the clearing.”
Evening nodded. “I summoned the Mothman, and by answering that call, he placed himself out of my father’s reach for those few seconds. I do not know when, or if ever, my father will physically be able to materialize on Earth again. As I explained before, he does not have my abilities, and thus must rely on transitioning layers between dimensions. Right now those layers are interlocked, which is why there is an unusual amount of UFO activity. “
“All of which has been steadily increasing,” Caden noted. Not only had the frequency of the sightings been escalating, but the craft had also started to appear during daylight hours, no longer limited strictly to nighttime.
“Precisely.” Evening’s black eyes appeared without pupil in the darkness. “Tonight signaled the peak of activity. Dimension travel will dwindle and cease in the next few days as filaments break apart.”
And there went Caden’s chance of finding Parker. “When that happens, do you have any means of communicating with your father?”
“No more than you.”
“Look, Lach. I need to find out what happened to Parker Kline.”
“Then go back to the igloo. Ask again. You’ve proven yourself worthy of the answer.”
“What makes now any different than before?” Ryan chimed in.
“Because the Mothman chose your brother over my father.”
The gravity of the situation was not lost on Caden, but it was too much to absorb with his head pounding and his arm bathed in fire. Grimacing, he rubbed his jaw. “It’s not that I’m not grateful, but I don’t understand what the thing wants from me.” It had shrieked and hissed, attempting to communicate vocally for the first time.
“Only the Mothman can answer that.” Evening turned and walked back to Lyle. “In the meantime, Serge
ant, I suggest you allow your brother to drive you to the hospital. I’ll escort Mr. Mason to his car and take care of him from there.”
Caden glanced to the sky. “And the creature?”
“As I told you before.” Gripping Lyle beneath the arm, Evening led the docile man from the igloo toward the intertwined mesh of trees. “His demise will come in a desolate hour. Be vigilant, for that time is not far.”
* * * *
It took a week before Caden felt good enough to drive to the TNT and wend his way through the overgrowth. As Lach Evening predicted, the sightings of UFOs had dwindled. Now or then a sporadic rumor cropped up, but for the most part, reports had ceased.
He’d been out of commission for several days, the graze deeper than he’d originally thought. The wound had required stitching, with a few sessions of physical therapy waiting in the wings. At least he’d kicked the prescribed pain meds early and had finally finished the last of his antibiotics. Because he couldn’t blame Lyle for the injury, he’d attributed the stray bullet to a Mothman hunter. That put a clampdown on the TNT with the sheriff’s office stepping up patrols again.
Caden often wondered what had become of Lyle, but had heard nothing from Evening. Parker Kline was still listed as missing, but there was no longer a concentrated effort to find him. Caden had a strange feeling he’d never see the kid again.
Ten minutes in, he stumbled over the bunker where he’d communicated with Indrid Cold. The igloo stood still and silent, bathed in afternoon sunlight. The last time he’d been here, Cold had turned belligerent, Caden’s questions about Parker the catalyst to provoke his hostility. If Parker had really met Cold on the night he’d killed Hank Jeffries, it was possible the alien was partially responsible for Hank’s death.
Parker is my mistake to fix.
The memory of Cold’s words swirled in Caden’s head as he stepped inside the bunker. With the door ajar, a shaft of sunlight penetrated the murky interior. He switched on his flashlight, sweeping the beam to the darkened corners. The place looked much as it had the last time he was here, the old metal canisters undisturbed, the walls marred by graffiti. He turned slowly in a circle, wondering how Cold existed here, a disembodied presence, but couldn’t cross boundaries and appear in the flesh.
“Indrid Cold.” The last time he’d been here, he’d felt foolish addressing the empty dome. Much had changed since then. “Can you hear me?”
Yes.
As before, the voice echoed in Caden’s head. The air temperature plummeted, noticeably colder and heavier. A sense of presence swelled around him, an invisible aura that made the hair prickle on the back of his neck. Unlike his son, or even the Mothman, Cold presented something dangerous. An entity not to be trifled with.
“I met your son.”
No response.
Were they going to play the yes/no word game again?
“He sent me here to ask you about Parker Kline.”
Still nothing.
Caden exhaled. Flicking off the flashlight, he stood in darkness, the only illumination a small shaft of sunlight angled through the open door. Counting the seconds, he waited until they stretched into minutes. Around him the air grew icier, a physical weight that carried the sting of winter. Tension corded his muscles, drawing his body ramrod straight. An ache started in his wounded arm and splintered to his fingertips. Still he didn’t move.
Something wrapped around his wrist. A touch like suction cups pushed beneath his sleeve and fingered the brand left by the Mothman. Caden fought the urge to recoil. He withstood the probing with no more aversion than the slight tightening of his jaw.
Finally the touch withdrew and the air warmed a few degrees. He breathed easier, sensing he had passed a test. A weight lifted from his chest.
Parker is with me. Cold’s voice spoke in his head. He is safe in my world, where I can care for him.
“You took him from the hospital.” Caden thought of the strange life-sized puzzle Parker had taped to his wall. Nurse Brenner said the drawing of Cold had erupted with light, opening a crevice. “From his room. He’s been gone all this time?”
Yes.
“Why?”
I will show you.
The interior of the igloo vanished. Suddenly Caden was on the porch of Hank Jeffries’ house, the lifeless body of Parker’s brother, Tim, cradled in Hank’s lap. But he wasn’t there as an officer arriving on the scene of a murder. This time he saw the grisly night through Parker’s eyes, felt the clutch of red-veined horror at the sight of his brother’s ruined face. Bone, blood, and brain matter soiled the ground in a macabre halo. An eye dangled from one empty socket, a string of connective tissue holding the gruesome orb in place. Hank sat in a puddle of blood, chunks of flesh clinging to his chest and arms where he clasped Tim close.
“No!” Parker screamed.
Hank wailed something in reply, but between his hysterical sobbing and drunken, slurred speech, Caden had no idea what he babbled. He remained inside Parker’s body feeling the thudding beat of his heart, the choking hand of horror as it squeezed the air from his lungs.
Can’t breathe.
He had to get help.
Tim wasn’t dead. Couldn’t be.
It was all a bad dream, a prank gone wrong. He needed to find help. Someone to get Tim to the hospital where they’d piece his face back together.
Stop playing dead, Tim. It isn’t funny.
Parker ran for the road, half crying, half gasping for breath, his legs pumping beneath him. His dad’s truck wasn’t far. They’d left it a half mile down the road.
He was a distance runner. Ran track in school.
Piece of cake.
He’d drive to town and have help back in no time.
Oh, shit, oh, shit.
Why hadn’t he just used the damn phone in Hank’s house?
What a stupid ass.
Turn around. Turn around, you idiot.
He’d have to look at Tim again. Hear Hank blubbering.
Could he do it?
Your brother is dying. Your brother is dead.
No, no, no!
It was just a stupid prank.
He pivoted. Would race to the house. Find the phone. Call for help.
Yes, yes! A plan.
Run like you’re running for a trophy. For the finish line.
Parker drew up short, blinded by a bright light. Raising an arm, he tried to shield himself from the glare. Something large and cylindrical hovered a few feet above the ground, covering the entire expanse of road. It made a hollow beeping noise, blue and green lights winking rapidly across its surface.
Dumbfounded, he lowered his arm. The light was dazzling, beautiful. It held him enthralled, filled his mind with words he couldn’t understand. Languages that tumbled one upon the other, peeling back his brain like the skin of a grape. The music was intoxicating, painful. It ripped through him, tore something vital inside. Chaos and wonder filled his head with marvels so exquisite, he was left hollow and broken when the visions withdrew.
“No!” He fell to his knees.
The craft was gone. All the beautiful lights and musical voices gone too. How could he live without them? Without that foreign language constantly chattering in his brain? Something had to fill the void.
He clambered to his feet, wondering how much time had passed. It seemed like mere seconds, but something told him it was much longer. He’d been headed back to Jeffries’ house because Hank had killed his brother.
Tim was dead. No help for him now, his face gone, pulverized by a shotgun blast.
Parker’s head hurt. Hurt so badly. No more voices or music.
Everything was wrong, nothing left to fix.
All he could do was run to his dad’s truck. Get the handgun his father kept tucked under the seat.
Why wouldn’t the voices come back? The otherworldly noise?
Panting, he raced for the truck and the gun. Tears rolled down his face. He rea
ched the Ford and wrenched open the door. Blindly, he groped beneath the seat until his fingers encountered the cold grip of the Smith and Wesson.
No more voices, no more music.
Parker flipped open the chamber of the pistol to check for ammo. He counted the bullets.
The music had vanished. All that remained was death.
Caden staggered and drew a breath, fighting to orient as he was wrenched into the present.
I don’t think you need to see the rest, Cold spoke inside his head.
“No.” He’d arrived on the scene almost simultaneously with Parker, unaware the boy was armed. He’d watched helplessly as Parker had walked up behind Hank and shot him in the head. He’d been forced to shoot in retaliation.
“Were you in the craft that night?”
Yes. Parker was caught in a type of flicker phenomenon. It happens sometimes with UFO witnesses. His mind couldn’t absorb being trapped like that. It damaged him. Changed him.
“He’d been going for help. He had no intention of killing Hank.”
No. Something similar to remorse underscored Cold’s voice. Now do you understand why Parker was my mistake to fix? Our brief encounter made him a killer and destroyed his mind.
“You said he’s safe.”
Yes. On my world, he hears only the music and voices he craves. He is happy. I will care for him the remainder of his days.
“He has a father on Earth.”
Unfortunate, but I cannot reverse the damage to Parker’s mind. Would you rather he lives the remainder of his life in a mental institution?
“No.” Floyd had already lost his wife and Tim. Parker’s father held nothing but animosity for Caden, but it wasn’t fair for him to constantly wonder what had become of his son. “You have to give Parker’s father closure.”
How?
“I don’t know, but you owe him that much.”
I don’t owe humans. I do what I do by choice. Stiff anger lingered in the declaration.
“But you owe the Mothman.”
Silence.