Lunatic's Game

by Margaret Lashley

  “Ouch!” Grayson yelled. “Drex, it’s me!”

  “You scared the crap out of me!” I screeched.

  Grayson opened his mouth to speak, but his cellphone pinged with another text alarm. He looked at the display. “Vanderhoff again.” He ran around the car, jumped into the passenger seat and clicked his phone to turn on the speaker.

  “Hello?” Vanderhoff said.

  “Beep. Beep. Beep. You weren’t there,” a mechanical voice said. “Tell no one ... or you’re next.”

  “Tell no one what?” Vanderhoff asked. Her voice sounded frail and shaky.

  The line went dead.

  “So she’s not crazy after all,” I said. “What do you think this means?”

  Grayson shook his head. “I don’t know. But maybe we should do the same thing. For now, anyway.”

  “Do what?”

  Grayson’s green eyes locked onto mine.

  “Don’t tell anybody. You know. For Vanderhoff’s sake.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Tuesday

  I WOKE UP SHIVERING. I reached for Grandma Selma’s afghan at the foot of my bed. It wasn’t there. I sat up. In the pinkish-gray of twilight, I couldn’t see it. I crawled out of bed and looked around. It wasn’t on the floor, either. I got on my hands and knees to look under the bed.

  When I lifted the dust ruffle, two red, glowing eyes stared back at me. I nearly swallowed my tonsils.

  The squeaky forerunner to a scream made it halfway up my throat, then collapsed into a disgusted groan. The eyes weren’t eyes. They were the reflectors on a pair of hand weights I wore back when I used to work out.

  Geez. I hope this isn’t going to be one of those days that lasts a freaking week.

  I put a hand on the bed for leverage and hauled myself up off my knees. Shivering from the cold, I slipped out of my sleeping sweats into work sweats, then climbed into my coveralls. As I padded to the kitchen in my stockinged feet to get the coffee going, a random brain cell fired.

  I’d left Grandma Selma’s afghan in her apartment when I’d slept on the couch to keep an eye on Grayson.

  Duh!

  I dumped coffee into a filter and was contemplating taking a shower when I heard the sound of Earl banging around in the garage below. I turned on the pot, tugged on a jacket, stuck my feet into my father’s boots, and made a quick run downstairs for a progress report on the RV. It was self-defense, really. If I was going to face Grayson this morning, my brain needed to start the day with a topic of conversation a tad lighter than metaphysical philosophy. At the moment, coffee and car talk sounded a whole lot more appealing—even if it was with Earl.

  “HOW’S IT GOING?” I asked Earl’s backside. He was bent over the engine compartment of the old RV, tinkering with something or another.

  “Not too bad. I need a couple more parts.” Earl straightened up and handed me a list on a scrap of paper. “Be good if we could get ’em ordered this morning, boss man.”

  I glanced over the list. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “How’d your date go with Grayson last night?” Earl teased as he stuffed the list back into his pocket.

  “It wasn’t a date. We just ... you know ... shot stuff.”

  Earl grinned. “Sure you did.” He turned and stuck his head back under the hood of the RV.

  I should’ve let it go, but I knew Earl ate up conspiracy theories like Cheerios, and my smartphone was still too smart for me to figure out how to search the internet with it. At least, that’s the story I kept telling myself. The second half of my reluctance was that the bifocal demon had finally caught up with me. I needed glasses to read the damned cellphone screen. Glasses I couldn’t afford.

  “Hey Earl, you ever heard of Mothman?”

  He popped up from under the hood. “Mothballs? Sure. I can’t stand—”

  “No. Mothman.”

  Earl’s eyes lit up. “That critter what scared the daylights outta them people up in West Virginia? Sure, I’ve heard of it.”

  “What did it turn out to be?”

  “Turn out to be? It was the Mothman, Bobbie.”

  I suppressed a groan. “I mean in the official reports. What did they say it was?”

  Earl raised an eyebrow, grabbed his stubbly chin, and rubbed beneath his nose with his index finger. “They never did say for sure. Some folks thought it came from outer space. Some thought it was a giant bat, all swoll-up and deformed by radioactive crap from that abandoned military place it hung around.”

  “Why would people think it was from outer space?”

  “On account of seeing all kind of strange lights in the sky. And them weird phone calls.”

  My back stiffened. “What kind of phone calls?”

  “Clicks. Beeps. Static. Stuff like that, mostly. Then these guys in black showed up and started tellin’ everybody not to say nothing about what they saw. That’s really why people think this thing was the real deal, Bobbie. If it was a hoax, why would these guys come around and tell them folks to keep quiet about it?”

  “What guys?”

  “The weird dudes in black. That’s where that whole ‘men in black’ thing came from, I think.”

  “What were they like? These men in black?”

  “Folks said they looked human, mostly. But something was always off about ’em. Some had real big, googly eyes. Some wore clothes that was out of style.”

  “Earl, that describes half of Alachua County.”

  Earl laughed. “I’m talking really old stuff. Like from the 1940s and ’50s. Or clothes that looked like they came from the future. They also spoke kind of stiff-like. Used old-fashioned words. A few of ’em didn’t know basic stuff, either. Like it was the first time they’d ever been on Earth.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I remember something about this one guy who tried to drink Jell-O.”

  I blew out an annoyed breath. “He was probably just drunk. You’re full of it, Earl.”

  “Am not! You know, now that I think about it, when Knickerbocker come up in here, he was all dressed in black. Maybe he’s one of them M-I-B’s. Think about it, Bobbie. He showed up here outta nowhere. And he’s always wearing that funny old hat.”

  I scowled. “He wears that hat because his head is cold.”

  I blew out another frustrated sigh. “How much longer before the RV is fixed?”

  “Might have it ready for a test run tomorrow. Why?”

  “I need to give Grayson a progress report.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Upstairs.”

  Earl’s face took on a mischievous look. “Well, while he’s up there, let me show you something I found in his RV. Maybe you’ll change your mind about your boyfriend being one of them M-I-B weirdos.”

  The part of me that wanted to tell Earl to mind his own business got kicked to the curb by my overwhelming curiosity. I followed my cousin over to the RV’s side door and then inside. I was expecting him to show me a baby alien in a pickle jar. Instead, he pointed to the kitchen.

  “Look.”

  My nose crinkled in disappointment. “What?”

  “All them cabinets is locked.”

  I stared at the small padlocks on the kitchen cabinets. “So?”

  “Why would he lock up his cabinets?”

  “So stuff doesn’t fall out when he’s traveling? Or so nosy jerks like you don’t go through them?”

  “All right. But why would he have eight deadbolts on his bedroom door?”

  “How should I know? Same reason? To keep you out?”

  “I’m telling you, Bobbie. Something ain’t kosher with him. Why you asking me about the Mothman anyway?” Earl’s voice took on a lascivious tone. “Wait. Don’t tell me. That’s what Knickerbocker calls his little man, ain’t it? Did you get a look at it last night?”

  “No!” I growled. “He’s a customer. That’s all. Now get back to work.”

  I turned to go. Earl called after me.

  “Hey Bobbie, you ever smelled mothballs?”
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  I turned back around. “Yeah. Why?”

  “How’d you get your big nose between his tiny legs?”

  “Earl, you’re fired.”

  I stomped out of the garage. My cousin had aggravated the stew out of me for the millionth time. But he’d also got me to thinking. Why hadn’t Grayson mentioned anything about men in black when he told me about the Mothman case?

  As I reached the top of the stairs, Grayson came out of Grandma Selma’s apartment. Again, he was dressed in all black, including that funny fedora.

  “Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “Coffee ready?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Come on in.”

  As he followed me into my apartment, my mind whirled. Earl was right. Grayson did come out of nowhere. He wore black clothes. Yesterday, he drank barbeque sauce like it was a shot of whisky, and licked salt like a Jersey cow. He claimed to be a physicist ....

  Oh my word! A man from outer space would be well acquainted with physics, wouldn’t he? It was the perfect ploy!

  “You call Paulson?” Grayson asked.

  I whirled around. Grayson was putting a dash of salt in his coffee mug. I stared, open-mouthed.

  “What?” he said. “It cuts the bitterness.”

  My cellphone buzzed. I looked at the display. “It’s the hospital again.”

  “Answer it, Drex. They’re not going away.”

  I groaned. “Hello?”

  “Roberta Drex?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m calling for Dr. Brown. He’d like for you to come in for an appointment.”

  “What for?”

  “He’d like to discuss your MRI results.”

  “Can’t you tell me over the phone?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. Please. He says it’s imperative that you come in as soon as possible.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I had a cancellation. The doctor’s got an opening in an hour if you can make it.”

  I sighed. “Okay. I’ll be there.” I clicked off the phone.

  “What’s the deal?” Grayson asked.

  “I dunno. Dr. Brown wants to see me right away. It can’t be good. Unless this whole thing is a trap to shake me down for the bill.”

  Grayson’s lips twisted. “I wouldn’t put it past them. Blasted doctors. Speaking of jerks, did you call Paulson yet?”

  I shot Grayson a look. “Yes. I told him about finding the skull out at Bullet Point.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That he’d check it out. And I should get some rest. He thinks I could’ve had another post-concussion hallucination.”

  “So the skull could be another false sighting? Besides the dead guy in the orange jumpsuit and the dead guy who shot you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Greyson tapped his upper lip with an index finger. “Spooky action at a distance.”

  “What?”

  “Quantum physics theory. You see—”

  My mind glazed over. “Save it. Maybe Paulson’s right. Maybe I am imagining things. I haven’t felt like myself since the incident.” I glanced at the clock. “Crap. I’ve got to be at the hospital in Gainesville in an hour. I better get going.”

  Grayson followed me toward the door. “Can I catch a ride with you into town?”

  “I guess. First, tell me where you got your physics degree.”

  “School of hard knocks.”

  I turned, suddenly angry. “I’m serious, Grayson!”

  Grayson held his hands up. “MIT. Geez! Don’t shoot.”

  “Sorry. I’m just nervous.”

  “Understandable. Nothing good ever came from an MRI.”

  “Or MIT,” I muttered to myself as I stumbled down the stairs toward the garage.

  When I got to the service bay, Earl was hunched over the RV’s engine again, singing along with Madonna to Material Girl.

  I suddenly felt all alone in the world.

  I turned to Grayson. “Will you come into the hospital with me to see Dr. Brown?”

  Grayson blanched. “Me? Why?”

  “Who else am I going to take? Him?”

  Grayson glanced over at Earl and blew out a breath. “You have a point. Okay. I guess I owe you one.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “YOU COULD BE SUFFERING from a coup contrecoup concussion,” Grayson said as we climbed into the Mustang.

  “A coo-coo what?”

  “Coup contrecoup. It’s a kind of brain injury. A coup injury occurs when your head’s struck by a moving object. A contrecoup injury is when your head is moving and hits a stationary object. You said the bullet hit you, then you hit the sidewalk. You could’ve sustained a kind of ‘rebound’ injury to both sides of your brain. Coup contrecoup.”

  “Oh.”

  “That could explain the strange visions somewhat,” Grayson continued. “You may be having flashbacks, or memories mixed together.”

  “You mean my brain may be scrambled?” I turned the ignition. The Mustang roared to life. I scowled at it.

  Sure, now you’re fine, stupid car.

  “Eh ... not exactly,” Grayson said. “The effects of a coup contrecoup injury are usually temporary. But they can last a long time, too.”

  I steered the car out onto Obsidian Road. “How do you know all this stuff?”

  “Head injuries can change people. They can cause your personality to shift. Your brain function to shift. Even your brain capabilities to shift. That’s how I got my eidetic memory.”

  “I have an idiotic memory, too,” I said. “Why is it that I can only remember totally useless stuff?”

  “Not idiotic. Eidetic. I have total recall of stuff I’ve seen for just a few seconds. My memory is like a photo album. I can kind of go in and view memories like they’re photographs.”

  “You’re saying you have a photographic memory?”

  “Yes and no. With a photographic memory, you can recall pages of text, lists of numbers, that kind of thing. But a true photographic memory has never been proven to exist.”

  I shot Grayson some sarcastic side-eye. “Tell that to anyone who’s ever walked in on their parents in bed together.”

  Grayson laughed. “Fair enough.”

  “So you got your great memory from an accident. Should I believe you, or is this another cover story? Maybe you’re really some super-brained alien from another planet.”

  His lip curled sinisterly. “I’d tell you, Drex, but then I’d have to erase your memory.”

  I nearly steered into the ditch. “You can do that?”

  “Your question is irrelevant,” he said in a strange, robotic tone.

  I thought about punching him in the arm but didn’t. “Why?”

  Grayson smiled at me and his voice returned to normal.

  “Because, Drex. If I could erase your memory, how would you ever know?”

  “DR. BROWN WILL SEE you now,” the nurse said. The look on her face made me feel as if she’d read my charts, and I probably shouldn’t be buying any green bananas.

  “Come with me,” I said to Grayson, and took his hand. I still had serious doubts about him, but if some stranger in a lab coat was going to walk into a room that smelled like disinfectant and tell me I only had hours to live, I didn’t want to be alone when I heard the news.

  Any port in a storm.

  “Ms. Drex,” Dr. Brown said as I entered his office. He looked surprised when Grayson followed me in. “Who’s this?”

  “My fiancé,” I said. I smiled and squeezed Grayson’s hand. He surprised me by squeezing back. My already pounding heart thumped a beat or two faster.

  “Have a seat,” Dr. Brown said. “I’ll come to the point. We found an anomaly on your MRI.”

  My shoulders slumped. “What kind of anomaly? Am I going to die?”

  “First of all, it’s not life-threatening at this point. At least, not as far as we can tell.”

  “What do you mean? What’s wrong with me?”

  Dr. Brown stabbed a f
inger at the MRI scan on his desk. “See this mass here next to your pineal gland? It’s vestigial.”

  “I’m going to be a vegetable?” I squealed.

  “Vestigial. It’s the remnants of your twin, Ms. Drex.”

  “My twin? How is that possible? I didn’t have a twin.”

  “Right. That’s because early in your mother’s pregnancy, your fetus absorbed the embryonic mass that was supposed to become your twin brother. He vanished, if you will. Except for this small mass of tissue.”

  “How do you know the twin was a male?” Grayson asked.

  “Well, a vestigial twin can be completely formed, or it can be a random clump of cells or body parts. An arm, teeth, that kind of thing. Given the shape and density of the mass, the vestigial twin in Ms. Drex’s brain appears to be made entirely of ... ahem ... gonadal tissue.”

  “Huh?” I shot a glance at Grayson. He was pursing his lips. I couldn’t tell if he was worried or trying not to laugh. My head swam against a tsunami of unexpected, unwanted thoughts ....

  “What’s the prognosis?” I heard Grayson ask.

  His voice sounded dull, as if he were underwater. I remained still and quiet, too stunned to react, as the two men spoke to each other about me as if I weren’t there.

  “The mass is at the center of her brain. It would be very difficult to remove it surgically. But as long as she’s not displaying symptoms and the mass doesn’t enlarge, I believe the best course of action is to leave it as it is and monitor it every few months.”

  “Keep an eye on it. Make sure it doesn’t sprout limbs.” Grayson’s voice echoed in my clogged ears.

  Dr. Brown’s eyes widened. “Well, in a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “I’d like to take the scans with me,” Grayson said.

  “These are part of Ms. Drex’s confidential medical files.”

  “She paid for them, didn’t she?”

  “Well, technically, no. Not until she settles her bill.”

  “How much is it?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t handle such things.”

  “Of course not. A doctor never sullies himself by talking about money.” Grayson turned to me. “Drex, wait here. I’ll be right back.”