by R. J. Wolf
Mikey rolled his eyes and picked his books up off the floor. Laughing Steve reached into the back and grabbed his bag. He took one last look at his car then headed for school.
As they walked through the halls of North Shore High, every eye seemed to turn and follow Steve. Kids gawked as they whispered to one another and pointed.
“Two years you’d think they’d be over it by now,” Steve grumbled.
“You did free climb out of a chasm and hike back to civilization. I’m not even sure I know who you are,” Mikey grinned.
Steve opened his mouth to respond, but just as he did a tall brunette with perfectly tanned legs walked passed him. Their eyes met for a split second then he looked away and sighed.
Patting him on the back Mikey whispered in his ear. “It’ll be alright man, we’re gonna find him.”
Steve smirked and headed into the cafeteria. It was now lunch time and the school was buzzing. The normal hierarchy of high school was at play which Mikey and Steve did all they could to ignore.
The punk rock kids were on one side, huddled around a green haired boy with gauges in his ear strumming a guitar. The jocks were sitting on the tables, pandering to every girl that’d give them the time of day and tossing the occasional spitball at underclassmen. The nerds were circled together in the corner, their heads buried in I-pads with fingers furiously pounding at the screens. To the left, the preppy girls thumbed their noses at each person that walked by, and then critiqued their outfit like a vindictive version of “What Not to Wear.”
Straight across the cafeteria was a set of double doors that led out to the courtyard. In front of them was a spunky redheaded kid. He was jumping up and down waving his hands furiously. He wore beige shorts with a green shirt and slightly resembled an overgrown leprechaun.
Steve tapped Mikey on the shoulder and nodded towards the doors. “Mit’s looking lively.”
Mikey snickered as they crossed the cafeteria and headed outside. Mit grabbed a plate of pizza and followed behind them.
Stepping into the courtyard the bright sun scorching overhead was blinding. The ground crackled like it was stuck in an oven. If it weren’t for the breeze from the ocean the heat would be unbearable.
Spring break had just ended and the anticipation for the summer seemed overwhelming. Most of the kids were already wearing board shorts and had donned sandals in lieu of sneakers. With mid-terms lurking around the corner no one seemed particularly eager to get back to class.
“What’d the doc have to say to you?” Mit asked as they gathered around a bench.
“Same old same. As long as I agree with whatever he says. Guess it helps him sleep at night.”
Steve started to laugh, but was interrupted by someone clearing their throat.
“Boys,” a deep baritone voice boomed from behind them.
They looked up in unison to find Principal Harris surveying them inquisitively from behind his bushy white eyebrows.
While he normally wore dusty old suits or his faded military uniforms, today he was in khaki pants and a flowered button up shirt like a Hawaiian tourist.
“How are we?” he asked, looking at each of the boys individually.
“Good, good,” Mikey snickered. “Special occasion today?”
“Oh yes, it’s quite fastidious that you’ve focused on my fatuous frippery,” Principal Harris dove into one of his rants.
Steve rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Can we help you Mr. Harris?” Mit interrupted him.
“Oh...no. I guess not. Carry on boys,” he turned and walked off.
“Harris is losing it,” Mit stared after him.
“Hell, he never had it,” Mikey laughed.
Steve grinned at them both then bent down and pulled an apple from his bag. He bit a chunk out of it and juice sprayed out and dripped down his chin.
“So Clark’s house tonight?” he smacked.
“Yeah, but I liked you better when you ate Twinkies,” Mikey said, sliding over to avoid the spray of apple juice.
Steve shot him a look and kept eating. When he was finished he grabbed a bottle of water and took a swig.
“So Mit, how’s your therapy going?” Steve asked.
“I finished my last session yesterday.”
“Oh yeah. So you’re cured then huh,” Mikey jested.
“Of course I am. I uh, got lost in the woods. It was all Anthony’s fault. He wanted to run away and I wasn’t brave enough to tell him no,” Mit said sarcastically. “Whatever the doc wants to hear I guess.”
“Screw that!” Steve snapped and flung the apple into the yard. “That’s why I don’t even show up. I’m not pretending for their benefit that what happened didn’t happen. And if I get my hands on Frank…uh!” Steve made a twisting movement with his hands like he was wringing out a wet shirt.
“It was either that or be hospitalized,” Mit retorted.
“I’d like to see them try it,” Steve pounded his fist into his hand.
The bell rung and everyone started gathering their things and heading back inside. Mit lingered a little longer than everyone else, staring at the spot where Anthony would’ve normally sat. Mikey and Steve vanished through the double doors not noticing that they’d left a member behind.
“I miss him too,” a voice said from behind Mit.
He spun around and stumbled backwards.
“Nickie, I umm didn’t see you there.”
She grinned at him and then headed inside. Mit stood for a moment longer before running to catch up with the others.
“What happened to you?” Mikey asked as they rounded the corner heading to trig.
“Nothing,” Mit stared at the ground.
The rest of the day was quickly consumed with lectures and practical exercises. This year they all shared identical schedules, which meant Mit did the work and they all copied. By the time the final bell rung Mit had assembled a novel worthy pile of notes while the most anyone else had done was construct a paper airplane.
“It’s really nice you driving us around and all,” Mikey grinned as he hopped into the grumbling sports car.
“Eh, I do what I can,” Steve smiled.
“Oh I was talking to Sweetness. She’s starting to grow on me.”
Steve shot him an evil look and closed the door. With a roar they peeled out of the parking lot and onto the main road.
“Hope Clark’s got something good,” Mit said from the backseat.
“He said we were getting close,” Steve replied.
Twenty minutes later the red Camaro rumbled through the neighborhood and pulled up in front of a decrepit two story. Mikey immediately jumped out of the front seat and darted onto the crumbling front porch. He jabbed at the doorbell which buzzed loudly then fizzled out like there was a short in the wiring.
“You’re an idiot,” Steve rolled his eyes at Mikey as he and Mit made their way up the porch.
“I like the sound of the buzzer,” Mikey grinned.
Suddenly, the door swung open and an aging gray haired man stepped out. He stared up at Mikey from behind a silver pair of glasses that hung off of his hooked nose. He wore brown dress slacks, a yellowing dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a maroon vest that was possibly older than the house.
“Can I help you?” the man asked with a devilish grin on his face.
Mikey stared down at him, his look unwavering. He narrowed his eyelids into a sneer and clenched his jaw. Three minutes passed and then Mikey finally cracked a smile and spoke.
“Are you gonna let us in or what Mr. Clark?”
“I’ve told you before there is no Mr. Clark here,” the man still stared back at Mikey without a trace of humor.
“Ugh, Fullerton can we come in?”
The man chuckled and stepped to the side. He patted Mikey on the back as he passed and shook Steve’s hand. As Mit started to walk in he stopped him with an enthusiastic look on his face.
“Mit! I think I cracked it. You won’t believe the algorithm the
y were using.”
Mit grinned from ear to ear and followed Fullerton inside.
A lot of things had changed since the days when they snuck into the Clark’s house to find evidence of a murder. What was a once creepy old two story had become something like a second home. The Clarks were more like relatives now than an oddity to be watched.
Two years ago Anthony’s Uncle Frank had brought them back to the North Shore town with stories of how they’d run away from home. The town was stunned to learn of the loss of three teenagers and the rest of the details seemed to fall through the cracks.
Mit and Mikey tried to convince everyone of the truth, but their stories were attributed to traumatic stress. When Steve was found alive it only fueled the town’s theory that the boys had run away and succumbed to the elements.
Eventually they started telling people what they wanted to hear. Their parents, the therapists even kids at school were put at ease to learn that they’d made the whole thing up. It seemed like everyone was started to heal, everyone except Mr. Clarks son.
A few months after they returned he stopped them on their way home from school. He explained to them how his father had known about the existence of Anthony’s species for some time and had made it his life’s work to study them. He told them he believed their story and would do everything in his power to help them find their friend.
They were shocked to learn that the town had been a hot bed for mysterious disappearances over the last twenty years. Unnamed government agencies were embedded so deeply into the infrastructure that they were able to snuff out rumors of anything bizarre before the town got wind. Mr. Clark had proof on it all. His house was packed with files on everything from the first abduction to everyone in the town he suspected was working with the government.
Since then Mr. Clark and the boys had been working together. They told him everything they could remember from their journey and he had started to piece things together. He’d narrowed down where Anthony might be and every day they seemed to be getting closer.
As they made their way into the house the smell of baked goods overwhelmed them. Smiling, Mrs. Clark emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of cookies. She handed a cookie to Mikey and one to Mit, then looked at Steve and grinned.
“I know you’ve become some kind of health nut, but I won’t let you get away without tasting my custard pie.”
“Of course Mrs. Clark, I made sure I saved room,” Steve said and blushed.
He walked over to her and gave her a big hug. Grinning she put a cookie in his hand and winked.
“Just in case,” she whispered.
Mr. Clark grinned at his mother and hurried them past the kitchen to a door that looked like it led into the actual staircase. It was odd that with all their sneaking in and out of that house they’d never noticed the door before. It was sitting there plain as day, a white door embedded right in the middle of the ugly green wallpaper that covered almost the entire house.
Mr. Clark opened the door and they all stepped into what most people would assume was a broom closet. Inside there was a wooden landing with a tiny light swinging overhead. Mr. Clark reached up and pulled a silver chain and a dim glow echoed into the air. You could see a dusty staircase winding into the darkness below.
“Don’t keep them long, Fullerton,” Mrs. Clark called after them.
He nodded back at her and closed the door. One by one they headed down the rickety steps, disappearing into the shadows.
As they made it to the bottom floor Mr. Clark walked to the wall and flipped a switch. Overhead lights buzzed as they flickered on revealing an expansive lab. It ran the length of the house and was divided into rooms.
One section had a row of computers and flashing monitors. It looked like a government cryptography lab. Thick yellow wires ran across the floor connecting to cabinets stuffed with devices that blinked like Christmas lights.
The other side seemed like a cross between a doctor’s office and a mad scientist’s laboratory. There was an assortment of chemicals and flasks filled with glowing liquids in one corner. On the other side sat operating tables and carts with surgical tools.
“Is that it?” Mit smiled pointing at one of the monitors that had a string of numbers running across it.
“Sure is,” Mr. Clark replied.
He walked over to the computer and jabbed at the keyboard. The numbers disappeared and a map of the United States popped up. Scattered across the map were more than twenty blinking red dots.
“You see, this is what the original search looked like, but once I figured out the algorithm,” he tapped a few more keys. “This is what I found.”
Most of the red dots vanished leaving only five that were focused around the Wyoming area. Mikey looked on and smiled.
“Well that definitely narrows it down. What’s next?”
“We’re dead in the water now until we get some more info,” Mr. Clark sighed.
Steve scratched his head as he looked on. He shrugged his shoulders then stared at the ground. Mr. Clark put his hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve done more than enough Steve. None of this is your fault. We wouldn’t be this far without you.”
Steve let out a deep breath then turned around and headed for the stairs. “I think I’ll try that pie now.”
Mr. Clark stared after him. Mikey sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes.
“He’s been like that lately. So what’s next?”
“What’s this?” Mit shouted, holding up a manila folder with a red x stamped on it.
Mr. Clark chuckled. “I’m glad you found that. It’s something my father was working on.”
He walked over to Mit and took the folder from him. Laying it open on the table he removed the papers inside and spread them out.
“So you have whatever Anthony is over here,” he pointed at a page marked over in red. It looked official, like a government document and in the top it read classification: unknown.
“And over here, you have…well you have something else.”
Mit edged closer and stared at the paper. “What’s a spectral?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I’m not even sure if my father knew. I found this last week and have been trying to make sense of it. Whatever they are my father didn’t think they were too pleasant.”
“So your father, he knew. He knew about all of this,” Mit stuttered.
Mr. Clark closed the folder and smiled. “I guess it’s time I really do some digging into my father’s things. You have to understand Mit. My father was a very secretive man, everything he ever worked on was heavily coded and just deciphering it could take years.”
Mit’s head sunk as he stared at the floor. Slumping his shoulders he staggered to a chair in the corner and collapsed. Mr. Clark shook his head.
“Don’t get discouraged. The good news is, my father knew something and all his work is here,” Mr. Clark patted Mit on the back.
“Anyway, you boys head on home. We’ll pick this up tomorrow. Keep an eye out though and be safe.”
IV
Mikey stared out of his bedroom window down onto the street below. For the last hour he’d been watching a green and yellow moving truck being unloaded. The diesel engine idled loudly while half of the truck hung into the road, puffing gray smoke into the air. Every other minute a very thin, fair skinned lady would lug a box or two out of the back and disappear into the house.
There was something odd about her Mikey thought. She moved swiftly, but calculated, almost like a robot. Every time she grabbed a box, she scanned from side to side before she headed back in. She meticulously traced her own footsteps like an invisible line was pulling her on a tack.
If her strange behavior hadn’t made her stand out, her looks certainly would have. She could’ve stepped out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog. She wore a form fitting black pencil skirt that moved like it was a second skin. Her white blouse fit snug against her torso, the short sleeves exposing arms that were certainly capable of more
than office work. Her hair was as blonde as Mikey’s and was twisted and pinned up. Her heels, which should’ve clicked loudly against the pavement were silent, each step muffled as if someone had turned the volume down.
She definitely looked like a normal enough woman, albeit exceptionally hot by Mikey’s calculation. But everything else about her was wrong. Her demeanor, her movements, even the way her gorgeous eyes scanned the neighboring streets.
Mikey grabbed a surfboard and slung it onto his bed as he moved closer to the window. He glared at the woman trying to will the top button of her shirt undone. When that failed he tried to look inside the house, but all the blinds had been drawn shut.
An older man had gone inside earlier carrying a black briefcase and a laptop. Mikey had tried to get a better look at him, but he’d gone right inside without stopping. Since then Mikey hadn’t seen him. Now he was drawn to watching the woman, unsure if it was because of her stunning legs or how strange she was acting.
The house across the street from him had been vacant for years. Ever since the man that owned it had died on his rocking chair. It wasn’t even on the market for sale anymore. And now someone was moving in.
As Mikey watched her zip in and out of the house he faintly remembered Mr. Clark’s speech to them the other day. “Just keep an eye out for things that seem out of place,” he said. Since then Mikey had been giving everyone a second look. This actually seemed like something worth keeping an eye on though.
Without thinking, he reached across his nightstand and grabbed his cell phone. GET OVER HERE. He typed a quick message and sent it out, then tossed his phone back onto the table.
Pressing his face against the window, Mikey stared back out onto the street as a white van came to a stop beside the moving truck. The lady looked up and sneered at the driver. She put her hands on her hips and tapped her shoe angrily.
The dingy, white van looked like something a painter would drive. It even had a ladder attached to the top, but instead of windows there was silver mesh wiring running across the sides. The tires were almost identical to the ones on Steve’s Camaro and the loud dual exhaust spat a thin stream of smoke into the air.