"I met Dr. Homlin. I still don’t know what the connection is, but I know he's connected in some way. Maybe he found the beast ... the alien. In my mind I think of it as a beast -- a vicious killing machine. Anyway, I don't know how, but I'm sure Homlin is connected in some way. And I suspect — no, I know the copy of your son is connected as well."
Allan flinched at the word 'copy'. He realized it was an accurate description, but he wasn’t ready to think that way — not yet. Pat patted his knee. She stood up and walked over to the counter where Allan's coffee maker sat. "Do you mind if I make us a pot of coffee. For some reason, I think this might turn into a late evening."
Allan nodded. "Everything is in the cabinet over the coffee maker."
As Pat filled the coffee maker with water, she glanced over her shoulder to Allan who continued sitting at the kitchen table, studying his hands clasped together in front of him.
“You know Allan, this is going to sound awfully harsh of me, but I think it needs to be said." She paused for a moment. "Your son, Todd, died several years ago. Whatever has been living in your house isn't your son. I know you'd like it to be, but it isn't."
Allan nodded but didn't reply. After about a minute he walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk for the coffee. “You know, I used to never keep milk in the fridge. I don't drink it very often except in coffee. A quart would go sour on me but when Todd . . . TJ . . . whoever — I don’t even know what to call him…it…when he came, I started keeping half gallons.
"I know what you're saying is true," he continued. "I've been living in a fantasy, knowing all along, sooner or later I'd have to wake up, but the dream was so sweet, I just didn't want to face the morning."
His eyes began to tear and Pat took a step closer and put her arms around him. He stood rigid for a few seconds then relaxed into her embrace. He laid his head against her neck and shoulder. After a moment, Pat felt his body shudder and his tears moisten her neck. They stood huddled together for several minutes as Allan quietly wept.
Neither one spoke for several minutes. Pat continued to hold Allan in her arms but even as she comforted him, she wondered. What had been staying with him?
A light tapping on the study door brought Homlin's head up from the pile of papers on his desk. "Yes, what is it?" He asked gruffly. Hadn't he told them he was not to be disturbed?
The door opened and Alex stuck his head and shoulder in through the crack. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but it's rather important. There's a small boy here to see you. About all we can get out of him is his name. TJ -- TJ Pritchard," Alex said with an amused look on his face.
"I don't know anyone by that name. Find out what he wants ... wait a minute. What did you say his name was?"
"TJ Pritchard." Alex repeated.
"Any relation to that ass, Allan Pritchard?"
"He says he's Dr. Pritchard's son."
"Oh, he does, does he?" Homlin shut the file in front of him and rose from behind the desk. "I didn't think Pritchard had any children."
"That's the interesting thing." Alex replied. "He doesn't although our research on him revealed he did have one who died in a fire a few years ago. His name was Todd.”
Homlin glanced at his bodyguard. "What's going on here? What are you smirking at?"
“You'll see in just a moment,” Alex answered.
"This had better be good or you'll be answering to me. You know I don't care for practical jokes.”
"Oh, you'll enjoy this one. I'll stack my next three days off on it."
The two of them walked down the stairs to the library. Alex opened the door and stepped aside to allow his boss to enter first. As Homlin walked through the doorway he saw the child sitting in the center of the plush sofa, his legs dangling in mid-air, a confused, worried look on his face. When Homlin first entered the room, the boy was looking all around, as though he'd never been in such a large room, but then his eyes drifted over to Homlin and stayed fixed. The boy's furrowed brow relaxed, and his face took on the calm composure of someone nestled in his loved one's arms.
Homlin studied the small infant for several seconds before turning his attention to his amused escort. "Why didn't you tell me? He's one of us!"
It was well after midnight. Allan had lost all track of how long they'd been talking. He lay on the sofa in the den enjoying the warm cozy heat of the wood stove. His head rested on Pat's lap, and as they talked, her hand lightly stroked his temple. Despite the intensity of the conversation -- how their two stories might fit together -- Allan couldn't remember a time when he'd been more at ease. It felt so natural. It was hard to believe he'd known this woman for such a brief time.
As the evening progressed, the talking grew softer and less frequent. Allan found his attention drawn to Pat's light caresses and studying the fine details of her face -- the slightly upturned nose, the full lips, the high cheekbones, the creamy texture of her skin.
Slowly, Allan raised himself up on one elbow and brought his eyes level with Pat's. For the moment, all thoughts of mysterious larvae and alien spaceships evaporated. The only thing Allan was aware of was Pat's slightly parted lips. So lovely, so sensual, so much drawing him in. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself to think about being with a woman. He had tried dating a couple of times in the past two years. Both had ended in disaster. He'd simply not been ready. But with Pat it was different. This didn't feel like a date. This felt as natural as if they'd been together for years. She belonged here in his den and he belonged in her arms. That's just the way it was supposed to be.
His lips lightly touched hers once, twice. He turned his head slightly and kissed her again, harder this time, then harder still. The passion mounted like a freight train rumbling down the side of the mountain. Pat's supple body pressed against his, a willing player in the love game. They explored each other at will — two children discovering that their best friend isn't exactly the same after all.
Finally, when Allan felt like he would burst, Pat gently pushed him away for a moment. “Not on the couch. Let's go to your bed.” Her face was flushed and the look of desire matched his own.
Allan was suddenly uncertain. It wasn't that he didn't want to make love to Pat. He did, more than anything he could think of at the moment. The question suddenly shot into his head. Could he? It had been so long. He'd always been a satisfying lover to Laura, but that had been years ago and the two of them had practically grown up together. What would Pat expect? She was probably used to experienced lovers with special talents that came from sleeping with many different women. Meanwhile, he was just a small town boy who could count on one hand, maybe two, the number of women with whom he had slept.
Pat seemed to notice his hesitation and patted his cheek. "Don't worry honey, we're just going to bed. Who knows what will happen. We might just fall asleep." Her warm smile and light teasing reassured him. True, he didn't know what Pat liked and finding out would be half the fun.
As they entered Allan's bedroom, he was momentarily embarrassed to find he'd not made up his bed, but Pat didn't seem to even notice. She excused herself and walked into the bathroom. As soon as the door closed, Allan rushed to put the bed linens in some order, before stripping his clothes off. Pajamas? Should he put something on? Hell, he didn't even know if he still owned a pair or not. Certainly, Pat wouldn't have any gown to put on. Not unless she had a teddy secretly hidden in her handbag.
He decided against looking for pajamas. What the hell, go for broke, he thought as he stripped off his underwear. It felt funny to suddenly be so self-conscious about what he did or didn't wear. He pulled the sheet and bedspread back and slipped into bed. The cool sheets felt good against his warm body. Despite his sexual arousal, he felt a calming drowsiness start to play at his eyelids. Wouldn't Pat be shocked if she came out of the bathroom to find him snoring away in bed. She'd probably never forgive him. There was no chance of it happening. His body was too tingly -- too aroused.
In a moment, Allan noticed the cr
ack of light under the bathroom door disappear, and a moment later the door opened and Pat strolled out towards the bed. She wore his bathrobe she'd found behind the bathroom door. She approached the bed, her slender form silhouetted by the light coming through the bedroom door from the other room. She stood next to the bed for a moment, gazing down at him, then slowly pulled the tie loose from her slender waist. She slipped the bathrobe from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. The light from the other room cast an eerie glow across her slender shape.
Allan slid himself to the other side of the bed, giving Pat room to slide into the warm spot he'd just vacated. As she pulled the sheet over her, she turned towards him and pulled his head to her breasts. Allan inhaled the sensual fragrance of her perfume mingled with the aroma of arousal. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the visual fireworks discharging behind his eyelids. His hands and tongue danced across the dance floor of Pat's body as her hands did their own dance across his.
Allan smiled to himself. Making love is a little like riding a bike, he thought. Some things you just never forget.
Poaching
Sunday, Nov. 21
The buck raised his head, sniffing at the air for possible danger. Noticing no change, he resumed his grazing at the edge of the open field. The muscles of his shoulders twitched slightly. He stepped from patch to patch of the dry grass, seemingly unconscious to his surroundings. Suddenly his head lifted again, a large tuff of grass still in his mouth. Before the buck could take a step, the arrow entered his chest, penetrating deeply through the lung, puncturing the heart.
Despite the fatal wound, the buck flung himself back on his rear legs and leapt into the air, galloping across the clearing. With each beat, the heart pumped the life-giving blood into the chest cavity. At the middle of the field the deer stumbled, righted itself and stumbled again. Ten yards into the woods it crashed to the ground, already its brown eyes glazing over. By the time the hunter reached it, the heart had stopped pumping its blood through the wrong channel.
"Damn, what a shot!" "Convoy" MacMillan shouted, then realizing where he was, clamped a hand over his mouth. He ran across the edge of the clearing keeping his eye on the spot where the deer had disappeared into the woods. He wasn't worried. The arrow from his crossbow had traveled straight and true to its mark. He would not have a long search for this one. God only knew how he was going to get it out of here by himself. But he wasn't that far from the opening in the fence and his pickup truck. He'd field dress it as quickly as possible to reduce the weight and drag the remains out. It would be worth the hard work. He could already imagine the look on Bo's face when he drove up to his place with the buck in the back of his truck. The look alone would be worth the effort.
As Convoy entered the far edge of the woods, he slung the crossbow across his back and pulled the hunting knife from its sheath. It would pay for him to be quick with his work. One could never be too careful when poaching on a game preserve. Especially this one, Convoy thought. Ever since the strange doctor had taken it over, it gave him the heebie-jeebies to hunt there. He'd seen the patrols, each man with an automatic rifle that looked like it came from a Rambo movie. He suspected the men were the type who would shoot first and ask questions later. He wasn't interested in finding out if this was true. Best just to move fast, take the spoils and vamoose.
As he spied the still carcass only a few yards into the woods, Convoy smiled. What a shoot! He thought again. He loved hunting with a crossbow. It was the weapon of a true sportsman. It took cunning, patience, and a high level of skill. Not like hunting with a rifle where you could take a beast like this one down from a hundred yards. Anyone could do that. Hell, even Bo got lucky on occasions.
Convoy pulled the deer onto its back and jammed the knife into the warm belly. As the knife penetrated the cavity, steam rose from around the opening, and the glistening innards pushed their way through the wound. Convoy continued to saw across the thick muscle of the abdomen, working his way towards the chest. Concentrating on his work, he missed the quivering lump of white tissue until one of them fell out of the wound and landed on his boot.
At first he glanced down nonchalantly at his foot to see what had hit it. Spying the still moving mass, he jumped back from the buck, dropping his knife in the leaves.
"Holy mother-of-pearl. What the hell . . .? Shit! Not those damn things again. What is it with you guys?" He addressed the question to the dead buck. "Really. This is disgusting. How can you all look so damn healthy and be eaten up inside with such disgusting worms, or whatever the fuck they are?"
He wiped the boot the larva had landed on in the leaves. He stopped for a moment and considered his next move. What had Bo said about these things? He'd seen them too, hadn't he? And it had been from a deer outside the preserve. That vet friend of Bo's had been there and had seen them too.
What had Bo said about it? Hell, they'd been drinking a good while by the time the subject had come up. His mind was a bit foggy about the whole conversation. The vet hadn't known what the damn things were either. Wasn't that what Bo had said? They'd taken the carcass and dressed it anyway but no one had dared try the meat yet. Fuck! What was he to do?
He stared down at the deer's carcass. Maybe he could take it over to the next county and sell it to some of his buddies over there. It was doubtful anyone over there had heard about these things. Yeah, that's what he'd do. He'd cut the head off and have it preserved and he'd sell the meat, or if he couldn't sell it, he'd trade it for some 'shine. He'd get something out of his hard work besides a queasy stomach.
He kicked the quivering lump with the same boot he'd been trying to clean and watched the white mass sail into a clump of bushes several feet away. As he watched the mass disappear into the bush he suddenly realized he was not alone. Standing a few yards deeper into the woods behind the bushes where the lump had disappeared was a thick muscled brute, his automatic rifle resting comfortably in the crook of one arm. The cold smile on the man's face turned Convoy's stomach for another loop.
I'm in deep shit now, he thought as he found his lips stretching into a fake smile. All thoughts of the meat and the rack of antlers evaporated into the cold winter air. Survival was the only thing that mattered now. Get the fuck out of the preserve without ending up like the buck. He turned in the opposite direction of the man and started tearing through the bush, zigging from side to side. As he ran he thought he could hear the man behind him raise the gun and cock it. Still he ran, the cold air burning deep into his emphysemic lungs.
He'd begun to think the man had been all threat and no action. Hell, he's one of those who can't pull the trigger, he thought just before the burst of gunfire lifted him off the ground and crashed him into a tree. It was his last thought before the shattering pain enveloped him followed closely by a wave of darkness.
Homlin leaned back in the plush leather chair and pulled deeply on the cigar. A strange habit, he thought for the hundredth time, as he enjoyed the sensation of smoke entering his chest. Nowhere else had he ever heard of any civilization that inhaled smoke as a past time. It was even stranger that he had adopted such a habit. He leaned a little further back in his chair and stared at Alex through the thick haze of smoke.
"Well, what do you have to report on our Ms. Vogt?"
Alex didn't respond at once. He'd learned to choose his words carefully when reporting to his superior. Homlin was not above killing the messenger for being the bearer of bad news. It could get dicey sometimes, even when the news wasn't so bad, as in this instance.
"I have two of my best men on her in twelve hour rotations. She has moved into the Waynesboro Inn and is no longer camping out. For the most part she just seems to be enjoying her vacation. Nothing suspicious to report at this point.”
"Good. But I don't want your men to relax. She's unpredictable," Homlin replied, remembering all too well his almost fatal first meeting with Pat Vogt. "She's a very cunning member of an equally cunning species. Don't relax, do you understand?"
Alex nodded, hesitated for a moment again, then decided to go for it. Homlin appeared in a good mood. It wasn't any harm in giving it a shot. "There's one thing I don't understand,” Alex started tentatively, as though testing the water with his toe before jumping in.
"Yes? Go ahead,” Homlin urged.
"Well, if this woman is so dangerous to our plan, why not just snuff her out. I mean, after all, she is the only human who might be able to figure out who you are. Why not get rid of her. I'd have no problem . . . "
Homlin suddenly righted himself in his chair and leaned forward across his desk. He opened his mouth, a quick retort ready to put Alex in his place, then stopped, the first words hanging in his throat. Instead, he stood up and walked over to where Alex sat. "Even though I know you are here not to think but to act on my thinking, I'm feeling benevolent today so I'm going to explain the situation to you." He smiled down at Alex who visibly relaxed, then strolled towards the window.
"Vogt is dangerous, no question. She's very dangerous. As you said, she's the only human who actually saw me when I first landed. But the entire situation is dangerous at this point. We are at a critical time. Until we get the FDA approval for FreeForm, everything is in a very sensitive balance. One wrong move could jeopardize the entire project. I need not remind you what that could mean for our race.
"Killing a human right now, any human, could tip the balance. The one thing I do not need right now is to have attention drawn to this area or to Biogentrix or to myself. Not yet. I'll be flying back to Washington in a few days. I expect by this time next week everything will be in place for the final approval. It'll be downhill from there. But for right now, we are at a critical point. Very critical."
Homlin turned from the window and faced Alex. "Therefore, I want you to do only one thing. Follow my orders. Thinking on your own right now is very dangerous." Homlin smiled. "When the time is right for our Ms. Vogt, I'll let you know. I'm quite aware of your interest in her. You be a good soldier, and I'll be sure you get your reward."
FreeForm: An Alien Invasion Romance Series (FreeForm Series Book 1) Page 13