by Nathan Wall
“They're coming to get me,” Mrs. Hanigan said calmly. “Tell Austin I love him and take care of him. You're more like a brother to him and you've been like a son to me. Can I count on you to watch over him? Can I count on you to tell him I love him?”
“Yes... yes, you can.” Jarrod rubbed his palm over his face. Claire grabbed his elbow and pulled him close.
“I'm counting on you, Jarrod. You promised...” The air went silent and Jarrod dropped the phone. He pulled Claire onto his lap, sitting in the dark while the phone beeped a methodical dead tone.
Episode 2
Thirteen Years Ago
Jarrod looked up at his aunt, tugging on her dress. She stood, leaning over the concierge's desk, talking to the manager. Her long, curly blonde hair draped all the way down to his face. The way it always seemed to smell of cherries helped him feel at ease when she'd hug him.
“Can I go outside and play with the dogs?” he asked.
“Jarrod, adults are talking,” she said, shooing him away with her right hand. “Go stand over there and be still.”
“Yes ma'am,” he said, lowering his head as he walked over to the gumball machine.
Jarrod nudged the rusty screen door, wanting to go outside. Two large mastiffs sat out on the dusty road looking right at him. He swayed his head to the right, and they did the same. He swayed his head to the left, and again they followed suit. “Cool.”
He looked at his aunt and then back at the door. I can go pet them. He thought. What’ll it hurt? His fingers slid between the door frame and the screen. His feet treaded lightly out onto the wooden porch, and down to the dogs that were sitting still next to an antique spring-green Ford pickup.
Both of the dogs stood, wagging their tails as Jarrod reached the grass at the bottom of the faded wooden steps. His pace was slow and cautious; each step the front foot’s heel touched the rear foot’s toes until he was right next to the dogs.
“That's right, be still,” he said, slowly stroking their backs. “I'm not gonna hurt you.”
A baseball hit the side of the truck just behind his head, startling him. He jumped, and in turn the dogs yelped, falling to the ground.
“Hey, what are you doing to my dogs?” a teenage boy yelled, easily twice Jarrod’s size.
“Nothing, I was just petting them,” Jarrod replied. Both dogs moaned louder the more nervous he got. He put his hands on the dogs, trying to comfort them, but nothing seemed to help.
The teenager ran to Jarrod and struck him in the stomach with the end of his aluminum bat. Jarrod fell forward, grasping his stomach, trying to suck in air. Two boys who were also playing ball joined in, proceeding to kick Jarrod while he was on the ground.
“These are my dogs, you little shit,” the first teenager yelled as he dragged Jarrod by the hair away from the truck. The further from the dogs Jarrod was pulled, the better they got. He yanked Jarrod up by the shirt and slammed a fist into his eye. As he raised his fist for another blow, Jarrod's hand grazed across the teenager's face. A shockwave of pain rushed through the teenager's body, causing him to slouch over.
The two other boys pulled Jarrod back, kicking his face while their friend writhed in pain on the ground. One of the boys lifted the bat in the air, when an adult grabbed it away.
“What's going on here, Alex?” the adult asked with a slight country twang. It wasn't anything that rendered him unintelligible, but just unusual compared to what Jarrod was used to. His jeans were faded and his buttoned up shirt was starchy. He looked down at Jarrod and then back at the teenagers, expecting an answer. “Well?”
Alex, the boy who started the commotion, slowly stood, shaking his head as the sensation in his hands and feet came back to him.
“This kid was hurting my dogs, Mr. Hanigan,” Alex said.
“Even so, were you gonna kill him?” Mr. Hanigan asked, pushing the teenager aside. Another adult walked up and started arguing with the stranger who just saved Jarrod. Finally, Jarrod's rescuer, Mr. Hanigan, offered a solution. “Let's ask my son.” He turned toward a boy about Jarrod's age who was shagging down baseballs for the teenagers, and motioned with a finger for the kid to walk over. “This is my son, Austin. Now go ahead, son, tell us what happened.”
“Well, um…” Austin hung his head, avoiding the eyes of the teenage boys, afraid to speak. His gaze fell down to Jarrod whose left eye was already turning purple, and then back at his dad. The comforting nod of his father gave him courage. “We was playing ball and this kid came walking out of there and all he did was pet the dogs when Alex decided to throw a baseball at his head ‘cause he thought it would be funny.”
“He's lying,” Alex yelled, being restrained by his father.
“Listen, Doug. What we seem to have here is your son's word against my son and his friends.” Alex's dad pointed at the other two boys. “Seems pretty cut and dry that maybe your son is misremembering some things ‘cause of all the excitement.”
“Even so, this doesn't change the fact these three boys, who are twice this kid’s size, were beating him and weren't showing any signs of stopping.” Mr. Hanigan pointed at Jarrod as Aunt Liv ran down the stairs in a panic. “I think it's best if all involved offered up an apology and went about their business.”
“Are you ok?” Aunt Liv pulled Jarrod in close and he welcomed the smell of her hair. His hands clung tightly to her back. She looked at Mr. Hanigan and then at the other man. “My nephew would never intentionally hurt a fly. He'll offer up no apology to these three hooligans.”
“That's fine.” Alex's dad nodded. He gathered the three teenagers and walked off. “Doug, we'll be on our way.”
“My name is Douglas Hanigan. This is my son, Austin.” Mr. Hanigan shook Aunt Liv’s hand and helped Jarrod to his feet. “What's your name?”
“Jarrod.”
“Thank you for helping him,” Aunt Liv brushed off Jarrod's back.
“Where ya'll headed?” he asked, grasping his son's shoulders. “Looks like my boy and your nephew are about the same age. Is he eight?”
“He is,” she answered, smiling. “We're actually thinking of moving to the area. Heard some great things about Texas.”
“It's the best place. It's why my wife and I named our son Austin because, well, you could probably guess. It was either that or Emmitt Smith and my wife would have none of that.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to Aunt Liv. “My wife wasn't born here, but she likes to say she came to Texas as soon as she could.”
“We're from the East Coast,” she replied, looking at the card.
“I wasn't gonna ask ‘cause we have a sayin’. ‘Don't ask someone where they're from. If they're from Texas, they'll tell ya. If they're not, don't embarrass ‘em.’” Mr. Hanigan walked away. Thinking more about the situation, he stopped and turned around. “Give me a call later today and we'll set up dinner. My wife makes a mean lasagna. The boys can get to know each other.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Aunt Liv smiled and walked back into the bed and breakfast, pulling Jarrod along. “What did I tell you about wandering off?”
“But I just wanted to play with the dogs...”
“But nothing,” she snapped back, her bright eyes angrier than normal. “I guess things turned out alright after all. Looks like we'll be making some friends. And that shiner on your eye will teach you to mind what I have to say. You can't keep leaping into things just because it feels like the thing to do.”
“But I never get to play...”
“I'm just looking out for you, Jarrod,” she said, kneeling down and giving him a hug. “I just need you to trust me.”
* * *
A young boy, about nine years old, placed his left hand on a gash that traveled over Austin’s right knee. His head was clean shaven, and his pale frame was almost completely skin and bones. Austin could tell he wasn’t malnourished, but just a skinny kid. He looked into Austin’s eyes and then back down at the wound; the blood from the gash seeped through his closed fingers.
The boy chanted and sent the synapses in Austin’s leg firing on and off like a flickering light. The pain surged through his knee and up his leg like bolts of lightning. The slight muscle tear in his quadriceps slowly fused shut and the skin over his knee connected back together with millions of little skin fibers extending their hands to one another. Austin’s half blurred vision corrected itself, and the cuts and bruises on his arms vanished. The surge made him bite down so hard that his jaw nearly snapped. Suddenly, the surge subsided. He fell back and collected his breath. He was more relaxed than ever before. The pain in his knee was completely gone. Even the lingering stiffness he used to feel after his knee surgery in high school was absent.
“Where were you when I lost my scholarship to UT?” He sat back up, giving the kid a playful smirk. The boy just turned around and walked out of the room, ignoring Austin as Hershiser walked in.
“What was that?” Austin asked.
“A healer,” Hershiser replied. The bruises and lacerations on his face were also gone. “It’s hard to explain.”
Austin nodded, jumping from the table. His knee gave out a little, but he was able to catch himself.
“Not quite good as new,” Austin smiled, squeezing his knee with his right hand. “But it'll certainly do.”
“Actually…” Hershiser turned his head, grinning at Austin’s statement. He motioned his head for Austin to follow and walked out of the room. “It is as good as new. That’s the problem.”
Austin pursued, favoring his right knee a little until he finally caught up with Hershiser.
“Then why does it tingle?” Austin asked, walking down the elongated hallway. The fluorescent lights tricked the mind into feeling like it wasn't nearly a mile underground. “It feels like it’s asleep.”
“Imagine you’re a toddler again, learning to walk for the first time.” Hershiser looked at him, continuing to walk the corridor. “What do you think it feels like standing and walking for the first time? Didn’t your legs give out, making your parents constantly catch you? I know mine did.”
“Where are we going?” Austin stood straight again. With every other step, he shook the slight numbness from his leg.
“You have questions and someone wants to give you answers.” Hershiser turned left around the first corner. “You guys saw a lot today, much more than what we normally allow outsiders. Most importantly, you saved my life. I've convinced some important people to take you in.”
“Outsiders?” Austin scratched the back of his head. He looked at the navy blue uniform Hershiser wore, honing in on the American flag sewn on the chest. “You’re not really American?”
“No, we are.” Hershiser kept his focus down the hall. “We’re just a different branch… sort of.”
“And that thing with one eye?” Austin took a deep breath, not really sure what he should call it. “I assume you guys make a living killing those things? What about that dude from the town?”
“His name is Oreios.” Hershiser broke his concentration and looked at Austin for a second, his eyes widening. “That was only the second time anyone has ever faced him and lived. You should count yourself lucky. So needless to say, we have a lot of questions for you too.”
“So, what do you guys do?” They stopped at a large double door which slid side-to-side. Inside, Austin saw Christian and Travis waiting for him, but not Jarrod. Hershiser typed in a security code, pressed his right palm on a scanner, and the doors parted. He gestured for Austin to walk into the room first.
“Welcome, Mr. Hanigan.” Sanderson stood from behind the long metal table, offering the only empty seat with his hand. Lian was behind him. “I hope your experience with the healer was more pleasant than it usually is the first time.”
“It wasn't bad.” Austin took the seat between Christian and Travis. He looked at his squad members, asking with his eyes for them to explain the situation, but they shrugged their shoulders. He looked back at Sanderson. “I take it you've already explained this situation, sir?”
“Sir. I like the sound of that, kid.” Sanderson sat down, snapping his fingers for food and water to be placed in front of Austin and the group. “You recognize authority when you see it. That's important.”
“Um, ok...?”
“What's also important, based on the reactions of your fellow squad-mates when you walked in here, is that you're a leader.” Sanderson pulled out a cigar. It was a Maduro. “You know, not one of your buddies here asked me what’s going on? Either you've got some big ones, or they just lack 'em. I'm thinking it's a little of both.”
“Hey now.” Christian leaned across the table, but Austin pulled him back into his seat.
“So you like to pretend to be a bit of a livewire, don't you?” Sanderson turned back to Lian and nodded. “Does he?”
Christian looked at Lian, who was squinting her eyes, when suddenly his mind quickly raced through a thousand memories. She opened her eyes wide, letting his mind go, and nodded at Sanderson.
“See? She's good.” Sanderson smiled, pointing at the plates of food. “Dig in. I'm sure you're famished.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.” Austin took a bite of the rice and quickly devoured the grilled chicken on the plate. “Ok, so you can't be military. The food is too good.”
“We're not really military, but we've recruited heavily from them.” Sanderson took a puff from his cigar and leaned back. “Several years ago, before most of your parents thought of having you, I used to do research to help make the world a better place...”
“I dunno man. My 'rents were pretty set on having kids early on.” Travis shook his head, wolfing down the skin of the chicken. A little bit dangled off his chin.
“Let him finish, you idiot.” Christian reached around Austin and poked Travis in the side.
“Long story short, this program was developed.” Sanderson arose and moved around the table, walking in a line behind the three. “However, the true potential of what we had wasn't fully realized until it was too late. Sometimes, you have to learn that it takes an agenda to push you in the right direction. Now, we find terrorists and snuff out those who intend to do freedom harm. When the enemy flies planes into skyscrapers and burns down a consulate with reporters and tourists inside, you know it's time to try new things.”
“In other words, as in something that's a little more direct, exactly what goes on here?” Austin put his fork onto his plate and wiped his mouth clean.
“If you haven't figured that out by what you've seen so far, then you won't understand even if I tell you.” Sanderson nodded at Lian. She walked up to his side. “We deal in paranormal. Things which are seen in plain sight but are explained away by minds that can't comprehend them. We use resources that our enemies and allies can't.”
“And that beast we brought back?” Austin stood and motioned for his company to do the same. “Where does it fit in with national security? What the hell is it? These healers, this teenage girl who doesn't say a word, that dude named Oreo—”
“—Oreios,” Hershiser interrupted. “Best way to describe him is as a mountain dweller who can control earth and things like that.”
“This all seems like bullshit.” Travis shook his head. “I've gotta be trippin’ balls.”
“There's more in play than what you're aware of.” Sanderson stood toe-to-toe with Austin, looking him straight in the eyes. He motioned with his head for everyone in the room, except Lian, to leave. “What if I were to tell you that the greatest threat to our way of life wasn't a few Muslims hiding in caves? That the future of the free world didn't depend on whether or not a woman in Afghanistan could read or have the right to persecute her rapists? That the real threat has been hiding away for thousands of years, waiting to be awakened?”
“I'd
say you're crazy.” Austin squinted doubtfully at Lian and Sanderson. “And then you'd point out how little kids can heal a four-year-old baseball injury, and how flying men dressed like Power Rangers can take down massive one-eyed beasts, or dudes named after a cookie who can manifest monsters from dirt.”
“Do you want to help?” Sanderson turned, walking over to a briefcase. Reeling Austin in like a prized trout, his deceptive smirk wrinkled his cheeks. “Believe it or not, you're in a unique position to help your country, son.”
“You're not the first person to tell me that.” Austin stared at Lian for a few seconds before she turned and blushed. He sat down and Sanderson slid the folder across the table to him. “Will I get to find out more?”
“You'll get to find out more than you can possibly imagine,” Sanderson said. “And you'll get to help people in ways you’ve never dreamed possible.”
You'll find out so much, you'll beg God to take it back, Lian thought, looking on as Austin opened the file.
* * *
Jackson took a step back from the machine which measured the psi of his punches. Sweat dripped down his back and arms; his drenched hair dangled in his face. He looked down at his bare knuckles, noticing the cracking and bleeding from the pounding he'd been delivering all morning. He shifted his gaze back to the target. Feeling his body tremor, he pulled his fist back and then slammed it into the punching pad. Following through on the strike, he collapsed to the ground and held himself up with his left arm. He closed his eyes, trying to focus his breathing. He imagined a soft breeze sliding across his face, picturing a river bank where he fished with only a spear tied to his hip. The smell of a campfire and pine trees in the mountains was at the tip of his nose.
“These numbers, they just don't make sense.” Dr. Shah adjusted his glasses, walking away from the computer and over to the printer. He tore away a section of the paper and compared it to another sample Jackson delivered six months prior.