by Jerry Hart
He resisted the urge to go anywhere near the hole. Instead he tried the doorknob. It wouldn’t turn. Since Cullen said that no one lived here, Owen figured he could do anything he wanted to the place and not worry about getting into trouble. He turned the locked knob hard and slow until he heard a sharp cracking noise. He’d broken the lock and now the door was opening.
He and D stepped into the foyer and looked around. Everything was dark, except for the few areas where the moonlight struck through the windows. The house smelled old and neglected. Owen’s eyes immediately darted to the staircase where Cullen said police had found him the night of the incident two years ago. Why couldn’t he remember what really happened here?
And then he remembered the orb. He had mastered accessing his memories by simply holding the orb and concentrating on what he wanted to remember. He could even wander around in the memories to notice other things. Why not try it now? If it brought any more shape-shifters, so be it. There was no one here to get hurt.
He sat down on the stairs, pulled the orb out of the backpack and held it in front of him, placing his fingers in the same spots as before. The orb suddenly turned into its clear crystal form with the swirling, blue-white light in the center. He felt the energy pulse through his body, his mind.
“Keep an eye on the backpack,” Owen said to D as he drifted into his memories once again.
And now the house wasn’t dark anymore; all of the lights were on, though he hadn’t flipped them on himself. He even heard a TV in the background. It was coming from the living room. Owen walked in there and saw a young blond boy sitting on the floor, watching a cartoon.
It was himself at fourteen years old. There were sounds coming from the dining room: silverware clattering together. Old Owen knew it was his father setting the table.
“Don’t sit so close, son,” his father said.
Old Owen walked past his younger self and into the dining room. There stood a tall man in jeans and a tucked-in plaid shirt. Russell Walters was basically an older version of Owen, his features almost completely identical. Russell’s face showed only very slight wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. His blond hair had traces of white on the sides.
Owen stood there, watching his dad set two plates down on the table. There were steaks and potatoes on them, as those were Russell’s specialties. Owen may have forgotten many things about his youth, but he would never forget how great a cook his dad had been.
The house suddenly began shaking, and Owen knew what that meant. He looked back at his younger self, seeing the fear on the boy’s face. What the two Walterses thought to be an average earthquake was actually the arrival of the meteor.
Old Owen ran to the nearest window and looked out into the field as it lit up. It looked like the sun was hovering overhead. Owen wanted to get a better look at the meteor, so he walked through the wall and was suddenly outside of the house.
He looked to the sky and saw several balls of fire speeding straight toward him. He knew he couldn’t be hurt by anything he saw—this was just a memory—so he stood his ground. The fiery chunks landed in the field, scattering the few horses he and his dad had owned. Owen stood only a few feet from the spot of impact. Looking to the sky again, he saw a small bright dot in the distance.
Suddenly he heard a door open and saw his dad coming out of the house, looking straight at him with wide eyes. Owen froze, wondering if his dad could see him. Then he realized that Russell was actually looking at the small fires that dropped from the sky. The field was slowly beginning to burn, and Owen recognized his father’s fear of the fires getting worse and burning everything, including the house.
But before Russell could begin putting out the fires, the sky lit up again. Another explosion nearly knocked him off his feet, though it didn’t affect Owen at all. They both saw the small bright dot in the sky, but it was getting bigger by the second.
The meteor.
Owen didn’t think he could watch what happened next, but then remembered what Cullen had told him: about how Owen’s dad had been found inside the house, not dead out here in the field. Owen’s memory of Russell getting killed from the meteor’s impact had been false, and now was the chance to see what really happened. He kept watching.
The fiery ball was so close that it shook everything on the ground—the fence, the house. Owen could hear the rumble of its speedy approach. If he had been capable of feeling anything, his whole body would be quaking.
He watched as the meteor made its horrible impact with the ground. Where Russell had been standing, there was nothing but an explosion of dirt, smoke and fire. Owen covered his face with his free arm instinctively. When the explosion subsided, he stepped closer. The meteor, smoldering, was sticking out of the ground. There was no sign of Russell.
Had Owen been right about his dad’s fate after all? Did Cullen lie to him? His questions were suddenly answered when he saw something moving on the other side of the meteor that protruded from the ground. He was bleeding from his forehead, and his clothes were dirty and torn, but otherwise, Russell Walters looked unharmed.
He continued to study the meteor, though. And now Owen realized that it didn’t actually look like a space rock; it in fact looked like it was made of metal. It was spherical and smoking heavily from its crash landing. Russell held his hands in front of his face as he stepped closer to it. The field continued to burn around him, but he took no notice.
There was a sound like an escape of air (it reminded Owen of the sound Silver made on the road earlier) and a force blew in all directions from the object, extinguishing the fires around it. Russell was knocked off his feet.
Owen continued to watch his father. The object was not smoking anymore; it was a cool blue, barely visible now that the field was dark once more. Something was opening on the side of it. It looked like a door. A figure was emerging from it now. Owen stood back, even though he knew he couldn’t be touched.
The figure tumbled out and fell to the ground. Owen realized what he was looking at. The meteor was actually a ship, and the figure lying on the ground was an alien. Just as Owen began putting the pieces together, the ship began to disappear right before his eyes. And then it was gone entirely.
All that was left was the alien, and it was lying facedown on the grass. It was dressed in a tattered silver space suit that barely clung to its body, its skin pale and plastic-looking. Russell was back on his feet and approaching the alien. Owen wanted to yell at him, to tell him to get away. That nothing good would come of this. In the end, he only watched.
“Are you all right?” Russell asked the figure, not yet realizing what he was looking at. The figure turned on its back and Owen gasped. He recognized the alien on the ground. It was Darlington. He was bald and his features were skeletal.
Darlington was an alien.
Owen suddenly realized he wasn’t all that surprised. He’d had an odd feeling when he first met Darlington anyway, and it hadn’t just been his appearance. He was surprised, however, by the revelation that Darlington, or whatever his real name was, had been here the night his father died. Did he have something to do with Russell’s death?
Standing there and letting the events unfold, Owen watched with a heavy heart. He didn’t want to see his dad die, but he had to know what happened. It had something to do with this orb, which Present-Day Owen still held in front of him on the staircase, for letting it go now would end this memory.
Russell was down on one knee next to Darlington, studying the strange bald man. Darlington was looking at him with dark, empty eyes, his mouth open as if trying to speak. Russell knelt closer, trying to listen.
That’s when something flew out of Darlington’s mouth. It looked like mist, and it flowed from his mouth and clung to Russell’s face. Russell jumped up in surprise and fell on his back.
Owen wanted to jump forward and help his dad, but he knew he couldn’t affect what was happening. The mist, which now looked like a bubble full of smoke, covered his father’s face like a ma
sk. Russell clawed at it, trying to pull it away, but his fingers simply passed through it. And then the bubble started seeping into his skin. The next moment it was gone completely.
Russell started gasping, as if he’d just inhaled a ton of smoke. He was clutching his chest, trying to rip his shirt off. Then he started going into convulsions. Owen watched in horror; it looked like his father was dying, and it was horrible. He closed his eyes and turned away, though he could still hear his dad gasping. The thing that had forced its way into his body … Owen had seen it before. Somewhere else.
Then he remembered. The night he had fought Michael, Owen had been so weak that he couldn’t even move. A similar thing had happened to him that night that happened to Darlington just now. The mist had lifted from Owen’s face, though it had nowhere to go. He had willed it back to him, thinking it was his soul, his spirit. He didn’t really believe in such things, but that night, he truly thought he was dying from exhaustion.
Now he knew it was not his soul that had tried to leave his body; it was something else. Owen opened his eyes and turned back to the scene. Something was different now. Darlington? He was gone. Owen looked around and found the nearly naked alien walking toward the main road, looking disoriented. Owen was about to go after him, but suddenly his father was on his feet too, heading back toward the house. Owen chose to follow him, since he knew where Darlington would end up.
Russell fell a few feet from the porch, where Young Owen was standing.
“Dad?” the kid said nervously.
Russell was crawling toward the house now. Little Owen, frightened, backed into the house, never taking his eyes off his father. Old Owen ran ahead of his dad and stood between him and his younger self.
The look on Russell’s face was terrifying. His mouth was wide in a silent scream, his skin stretching tight over his cheekbones. His eyes were rolled up into his head, as if he was trying to see his own brain.
Old Owen heard a thump behind him, and when he turned, he saw that his younger self had fallen back on the staircase, looking stricken. Now Russell was crawling through the future version of his son to get to the one who had fallen. He grabbed Owen’s leg, pulling him down the steps.
“Owen…” Russell moaned, and now, to Young and Old Owen’s horror, their dad’s eyes were bleeding.
No, not bleeding. It looked similar to the stuff that had dripped from the zombies’ eyes, from Chris’s eyes. But it was somehow different, lighter. What was it?
It’s his brains oozing out of his head.
The voice. It was back. But how was Owen hearing it outside of his younger self’s mind? It didn’t matter now. Russell Walters was dying in front of his son’s eyes. How had Owen forgotten this? How had he forgotten that his father had come into contact with an alien being—Darlington, of all beings!—and died a horrible death in front of him?
Because it didn’t want you to remember.
Russell gave a final, terrible moan of anguish, then he collapsed on the hardwood floor. He was still clutching his son’s jeans. Young Owen began to hyperventilate. Old Owen wanted very much to comfort the boy, but reminded himself that it would do no good; this wasn’t time-travel.
Young Owen began freeing himself from his father’s death grip when it happened. The weird mist flowed from Russell’s nose and mouth, then plopped on to the bottom step. To Old Owen, it looked even more like a bubble filled with smoke. Young Owen stared at it for a moment, then the bubble started climbing the steps toward him. He worked faster to free himself from his father’s grasp, but before he knew it, the bubble was on top of his face. It worked its way into his nose and mouth, same as it did with Russell.
The boy fell back on to the steps, hitting his head. Old Owen watched as the boy’s body convulsed on the stairs. He made weird grunting noises as the anomaly worked its way through his body, making itself comfortable. Then the convulsions stopped. Young Owen lay very still.
A few minutes went by and the boy hadn’t moved a muscle. Old Owen knew he wouldn’t move at all until he was found later on, but how long had that been?
Suddenly the lights went out and Owen found himself in the present again. He looked around the house, then down at the stairs on which he sat. His father was gone, and so was his younger self.
Now you know what happened that night, said the voice.
Owen walked through the dining room and to the kitchen, hoping to get a glass of water. His throat was suddenly dry. There was indeed something inside of him, something that made him stronger than a normal human being. That same something had come from Darlington, or whoever—whatever—he was.
A horrible truth came to Owen now. His father had had nothing to do with the orb at all. Nikki lied to Owen. Why? And then he knew: She was protecting Darlington. Earlier, when the alien had hypnotized Owen, he must have spilled all of the secrets about Darlington and the orb. Since Owen didn’t remember any of it, Nikki had taken advantage of that and told him a lie to get him away from them, out of the picture.
But where did the invaders fit into this picture?
I already told you. They’re here to take the orb and use it as a weapon, the voice reminded.
Owen had trouble believing that for some reason. A terrible weight bore down on him now. What was he going to do with the orb? He didn’t want to give it to the aliens walking around in their giant behemoths, and he was too afraid to destroy it; every bump to its shiny surface caused it to do strange things.
You could give it to Jason, the voice offered. He doesn’t want to use it as a weapon.
“How do you know that?” Owen asked, then laughed at himself. He was glad he was alone in this house, for it would appear he was talking to himself. And that just wouldn’t do.
He wondered how, indeed, Jason and Michael fit into the scheme of things. Michael had been as strong as Owen himself, and he had known things about the orb that Owen did not.
“Does Michael also have this thing inside him?” he asked the voice quietly, referring to the strange mist.
There was a long silence, and Owen worried that the all-knowing voice wouldn’t answer, but then it said, No, not anymore.
“What do you mean?” Owen asked.
It’s in someone else now.
“Who?”
“Me,” said the voice, but it hadn’t come from Owen’s head. It had come from behind him. He spun around and was met with a hard punch to the chest. He flew into the dining room and landed on the table. A hand clamped around his throat, closing off most of his air instantly.
A dark figure hovered over him, its face hidden in shadow. “About time you brought my orb back to me.”
Owen recognized the voice as the one in his head. But now it reminded him of a man he knew. The man lowered his head closer so that their noses were practically touching.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Owen,” Jason said.
“If I’d known,” Owen said, “I would’ve taken a lot longer.”
Jason squeezed his throat harder, and Owen found it nearly impossible to breathe now.
“Just in case you haven’t figured it out yet, the voice you’ve been hearing in your head all this time was me,” Jason said with a grin. He was wearing a white suit with a cream-blue tie.
“Always the snappy dresser,” Owen remarked as he held the orb in his right hand, away from Jason, though he knew it wouldn’t be difficult for Jason to steal it from him now if he wanted to.
“You and your friend really did a number on my brother,” Jason said, his voice cool but full of venom. “He hasn’t recovered yet.”
“Good,” Owen spat. “D! Help me!”
Jason merely grinned as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled something out. It looked like a remote. “D, go outside and wait in my car,” he said and pressed a button on the remote. Then, he said to Owen, “Didn’t you ever wonder where this thing went?”
Owen looked at it as well as he could. It was the remote Daniel had used to activate D the first ti
me he showed off the robot. At that instant, Owen remembered Chris looking for the remote that night Michael attacked them at the condo.
Owen heard footsteps as D left the house.
Just then, the whole place shook as a thump struck the earth. It was an impact tremor. Jason looked up, out the nearest window. His grin faded.
“Time is running out, Owen,” he said. “I’m going to take the orb, and the thing inside you. Hope you don’t mind.”
He reached for the orb, but Owen stretched his arm as far as it would go. Jason elbowed him in the ribs, causing his arms to jerk inward. Jason snatched the orb from Owen’s grip and held it over his own head.
“You know, you’re nothing special,” Jason said. “You’re not some ‘Chosen One’ or anything. You’re just some country punk with half of a good deal.”
“I’m country?” Owen managed to say with the little breath he had. “What does that make you?” Owen figured Jason and Michael were country boys themselves.
Jason raised his eyebrows, contemplating. Then he said, “Me? Oh, I’m not from around here.”
Then he closed off Owen’s windpipe completely. Owen was faintly aware of more tremors in the background. Silver was on his way here now. But Owen forgot all about that at the moment. The ghostly bubble was beginning to exit his nose and mouth. Jason got closer to it, but Owen could barely see him through the thing between them.
He felt himself getting weaker by the second. He now knew that the alien bubble was exiting his body, fearing its host was dying. The same way it had exited his father’s body because of the brain tumor. It couldn’t stay there any more than it could stay in Owen.
But Owen couldn’t let it join with the half that Jason had. With his last remaining strength, Owen kneed Jason in his ribs. There was a meaty smacking sound as Jason flew sideways into the living room and out of sight.