Doc Harrison and the Masks of Galleon

by Peter Telep

“We need time to process this,” my father says, like he’s talking about some lab results.

  I glance at him. “Dad, we need to tell her.”

  “Tell me what?” Grace asks.

  My father tenses. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  I give him a dirty look, and then wipe my mouth. “I need some water.”

  “I shouldn’t have come,” Grace says.

  “No, it’s okay.” I hurry off into the kitchen, unable to make eye contact with anyone there. It’s silent and awkward as I grab a bottle from the refrigerator, and then return to the porch.

  My father stares blankly at the backyard. Grace sits in a patio chair, nervously twirling her hair. They won’t look at each other. I glance back through the porch windows and wave over my friends.

  Meeka, Steffanie, and Keane come outside to save me. “Guys, this is Grace, my mother.”

  Grace beams at me for the introduction and for, I assume, referring to her as “my mother.”

  The girls shake hands.

  Keane gives her an awkward wave, and then gestures to her hair. “I like the purple.”

  “Me, too,” she says.

  And then, before it gets any more uncomfortable, Grace quickly adds, “So I’m betting everyone’s hungry?”

  “We were thinking about pancakes,” Meeka says.

  Grace nods. “Sounds better than the donuts you pulled off the lawn. Come on, I can use your help.”

  For a moment I pretend these are the good old days. My best friends Ira Drazen and Ricardo Hernandez are over, and Grace is making us breakfast, but this feels weird, like she’s already a ghost.

  With an exaggerated wave, she urges us to join her in the kitchen, and the others begin to file out.

  Meeka looks to me, and I gesture with a finger that I need a minute. She nods.

  Once everyone’s gone, I clear my throat. “So now what?”

  My father strokes his beard and acts like I’m not there.

  “Dad?”

  “I heard you. I don’t know.”

  “Well, I have an idea.”

  He turns and raises his brows at me.

  “We tell her everything,” I say.

  “Doc, I was married to Grace for nearly thirteen years. I saw no reason to tell her anything.”

  “Because you didn’t trust her? Your own wife?”

  “Because I didn’t want to burden her with it. Life is hard enough as it is.”

  “Yeah, and it just got way harder.”

  Now I feel like Keane. I get to watch my stepmother slowly die. How can this be happening?

  My father’s tone hardens. “We’re not saying anything, and we’re leaving tonight.”

  “Dad, maybe this is crazy, but I think we should take her with us.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “She’s dying anyway. She said there’s nothing they can do. So let’s show her something incredible before she dies. She can meet the grren. She can see two moons. It would be something amazing for her, I just know it.”

  I close my eyes and imagine the smile on Grace’s face as she squints at an alien sun…

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. She can meet the despers and see all the devastation,” my father adds. “Great idea.”

  “We won’t show her that. And we’ll keep her safe.”

  “We can’t.”

  “We can try.”

  “Doc, you’re just too upset now.”

  “Let’s just tell her the truth and let it be her choice if she wants to come or not.”

  “No.”

  Tears rush down my cheeks.

  “Doc, I’m sorry.”

  “She taught me how to tie my shoes.”

  He folds his arms over his chest.

  “Please, we’ll take her to the Highlands. It’s still beautiful up there.”

  “Doc, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just say yes.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Meeka spied on me through the sliding glass doors, saw how upset I was, and remembered something I’d told her.

  I love pancakes—but I love homemade waffles even more, especially ones made with my Darth Vader waffle maker. They come out looking like the Sith Lord himself.

  So while Grace prepared the pancakes, Meeka whipped up some waffles and surprised me with them.

  We brought in some chairs from the living room while a few of us manned the barstools.

  Tommy didn’t get much out of Landry and Boonwalla. As a precaution, he has them zipper cuffed in the living room. They hollered that our pancakes smelled way too good. Grace asked how they could possibly be hungry when they’d eaten those donuts. Eventually she broke down and let them try a few bites.

  The only one who skipped breakfast was Tommy. He was too busy trying to track down our security teams.

  Now we sit with bellies like sumo wrestlers while Keane complains how some Tropicana Pure Premium orange juice would’ve been great and totally on point with his pancakes.

  “S-M-H,” he says aloud. “Shaking my head.”

  “Can you do us a favor?” Steffanie asks. “Just don’t talk… like ever?”

  Keane makes an ugly face. “Hey, everyone’s so tense. I’m just trying to lighten the mood a little.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. “But you should pay more attention to how people talk. I told you, that social media stuff we don’t say out loud. And take the hipster thing down to like a level four or something.”

  “Level four. Okay. Whatever.” He leans back, smiles, and snaps a selfie with his smartphone.

  Meeka smiles at me and rolls her eyes.

  Tommy comes in and asks to speak to my father alone. As they leave, I gesture to Meeka.

  We slip onto the porch. “Thanks for the waffles,” I say.

  “I burned the first one, but then I figured it out.”

  “You’re making the worst day of my life a little better.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “It’s working. So… I need some advice.”

  “From me?”

  I nod.

  “Okay, what’s up?” she asks.

  “Grace came back because she’s dying.”

  “Oh, Doc, I’m so sorry.”

  “I can’t go after Julie and leave her here. I can’t do it.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “I told my father we should take her to Flora.”

  That catches Meeka off guard. She thinks a moment, and then says, “I’m guessing she doesn’t know who you are.”

  “No.”

  “So first you’ll show her you’re an alien, and then you’ll ask her to come home with you.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Yeah, maybe that’s too much for her right now.”

  “Or maybe it’s just what she needs.”

  “And what about us?” Meeka asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean being an alien is not just your secret, it’s ours.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then you know you don’t have the right to just go around telling anyone you feel like.”

  “Well, it’s not just anyone. It’s my mom.”

  Meeka sighs. “So how do you know taking her to Flora will help?”

  “She’ll experience something amazing before she dies.”

  Meeka glances away. “Or not. What’s your father think?”

  “He’s against it, but I feel like if I show her who we are, she’ll want to come.”

  “But going back is so dangerous.”

  “Like she cares? She’s dying…”

  “What if you tell her everything and she won’t go? Would you still leave? Do you really care about her—or just how you’ll feel if you go without her?”

  “Ouch.”

  “You wanted my advice.”

  “Well, hell yeah, I care about her. I’m mad that she left us, but I can’t stay mad. Not now. Not after all she did for me, right?”

  “Then you should be w
ith her.”

  “Maybe if I tell her about Julie, she’ll want to come even more.”

  Meeka just shrugs.

  And now she has me feeling guilty about everything.

  I take a deep breath and continue, “Anyway, my Dad says we’re leaving tonight, and everyone should have a chance to go home if they want.”

  The nine rumms we rescued were in Meeka’s caravan. The five boys—Wexx, Blink , Torro, Orlann, and George—are like her brothers. The four girls—Sahdia, Eskoheshmana, Rose, and Krisander are closer than sisters. A few of their names sound weird because our wreaths can’t translate them perfectly. Eskoheshmana goes by “Essie.”

  And they’re all just kids, really. The youngest, Rose, is only twelve, while Wexx is the “old man” at seventeen. Each has scars from “the withering,” another name we use for the day the bombs exploded on Flora.

  “Blink wants to go,” Meeka says. “Mainly because our mirage won’t last forever, and all of Tommy’s strict rules about jumping are really annoying.”

  “I know. But we can’t get caught.”

  “He gets that, but it’s worse for him.”

  Poor Blink, whose real name is Blimmvelt, was blinded as a baby during the withering, but he uses his persona to see. Cool thing is, he rides a bicycle built for two. His persona sits up front with eyes on the road while his body pedals in the back. Were it up to him, he’d never leave his persona, but no amount of mirage could help him do that.

  The only solution would be to push his entire essence into his persona, just like Solomon did. I’m sure Blink’s been thinking about that. A lot.

  “So everyone can come,” I say. “But there’s no guarantee we can ever get back. It’s a big decision.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “So what should I do? Do I go behind my father’s back and tell Grace who we are? I feel like he’ll just walk out on her the same way she did to him.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “I know. So…?”

  “I’ve already told you enough.”

  “What would you do if you were me?”

  Her tone darkens. “I have no idea. I don’t know what it’s like to have parents and need to lie to them.”

  “Hey, sorry to bother you guys…”

  We glance back at Steffanie, who seems on edge, almost embarrassed. It’s not like we were kissing or anything.

  “So Doc, if you decide to go back, I think you should take me with you,” she says.

  Meeka looks at her like she’s lost it. “Steff?”

  “I’m serious. I’m homesick, if you can believe that. And I think I can help.”

  My eyes widen on her. “I’m sure we could use you.”

  “Yeah, but what I’m saying is I think I know something. I mean I know someone who knows something.”

  “About what?” I ask.

  “About the Masks of Galleon.”

  “Really?”

  “There’s this girl, Pace.”

  “Oh, no,” Meeka groans. “Not her.”

  “Yeah, her.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” I ask.

  “What isn’t?” Meeka answers.

  “Can you shut up? Anyway, she never told me much, but she knows things about them. Actually, her father knows, but she would draw all these pictures.”

  “And of course it had to be her,” Meeka adds.

  “I feel like I’m missing something.”

  “It’s no big deal,” Steffanie says. “She’s just my ex.”

  “And a psycho who tried to ruin your life,” Meeka adds.

  I step back and raise my hands. “Whoa, hang on, I don’t want to cause any trouble. But if she knows something and you know where to find her…”

  “She’d never leave her caravan,” Steffanie says. “So I’m sure we can find her.”

  “That’s awesome.”

  “It’s not awesome,” Meeka snaps and then lifts her voice at Steffanie. “It took me forever to get you away from her, and now you’re going back for more?”

  “I’m just helping a friend.”

  “No, I told you, Pace is like your drug, and you’re a junkie. You can’t help yourself. You need to stay away.”

  Steffanie throws up a hand. “Oh, please.”

  “Hey, guys, check this out,” Keane says, hurrying onto the porch and waving his smartphone. “There’s all these pictures with thousands of likes.”

  I snort. “Keane, that happens every day.”

  “Oh, really? Pictures of clouds that look like masks? They were seen over Florida, the Canary Islands, Spain, and parts of Europe. Something big happened last night, and it’s way more than just Solomon taking Julie.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  My father’s in his office with Tommy. They’re studying the computer screen like radar guys in an old movie about UFOs.

  I’m in the hallway, just outside the door, acting like James Bond so I can overhear them talk:

  “Thaddeus, come on, you can trust me with this,” Tommy says. “I can’t help if I don’t know everything.”

  “It’s for your own protection,” my father tells him. “And theirs. If something were to happen to Doc…”

  “He’s come a long way. If you want him to be a man, treat him like one.”

  “Not with this. He’s not ready yet.”

  They’re silent for a moment, and I take my cue and barge into the room.

  I tell them about the photos, but they already know and are busy now and they’ll get back with me later (get lost).

  “Are we still leaving tonight?” I ask.

  “Doc, please, not now,” my father says.

  Tommy gives me a sympathetic look.

  I shrug and march off toward the living room, where the nomads are seated on the edge of the sofa, wrists still bound behind their backs. They’re watching a rerun of Cupcake Wars and arguing over who will win.

  Back in the kitchen, I ask Grace if we can talk.

  “Really?”

  “Shocking, I know.”

  When I was younger, she’d come up to my bedroom for a “conversation.” Ugh. I’d kick her out because she’d ask lame questions about school and friends and teachers—the usual stuff parents ask when they’re trying to bond with their kids but are really just boring you.

  No lame questions this time, that’s for sure…

  Up in my bedroom, she pulls out my desk chair, and I sit on the bed.

  “Let’s promise not to cry,” she says.

  “Okay.”

  “So I guess there’s a lot to cover.”

  I almost smile. “Way more than you think.”

  “What is it, Doc?”

  “You coming back home… it’s like, uh, it’s not bad timing. It’s perfect timing.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah. And I know Dad’s being a jerk, but—”

  “I don’t blame him, but I had to see you again.”

  “We promised not to cry,” I remind her as she wipes off the first wave of tears.

  She laughs. “Some promise, right?”

  “So is there anything you’re planning? I mean stuff on your bucket list, maybe?”

  “Doc, you’re my bucket list.”

  “All right, cool. So what if we could go somewhere really incredible.”

  “Like where?”

  “Like not here.”

  “But it’s nice here.”

  “No, I mean some place like… beyond awesome.”

  I lean over, take her hand, and place it over my wreath.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “There’s more in here than just my heart.”

  “Oh, honey, I know.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Then tell me.”

  I swallow. “You have to promise you won’t freak out.”

  “Oh, honey, I know what you’re saying. I remember when you were wearing the makeup. Of course I won’t freak out. I’m here for you now.”

  I gas
p. “No, Mom, that’s not it at all.”

  She smiles. “Thanks for calling me Mom.”

  “I guess I can’t help it, no matter how mad you got me.”

  “You have every right to be upset. And you don’t have to forgive me. But I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t come here to say goodbye.”

  Someone knocks on my door. “Doc, are you in there?” Ugh. It’s my father. “Yeah, but I’m little busy.”

  “Where’s Grace?”

  Before I can lie, she says, “I’m right here, Thad.”

  The door swings open, and my father challenges me with his eyes. “And what are we talking about?”

  “Dad, please…”

  “I’m warning you...”

  “Warning him about what?” Grace asks.

  He sighs in disgust.

  “So, mom, you ever think it’s weird that I’ve never been to a hospital? Like never?”

  My father raises his index finger. “Doc…”

  “I think you’ve been lucky,” Grace says.

  “Or maybe my cat scan would blow every doctor’s mind.”

  “Grace, we need to talk,” my father says.

  I stand and face my father. “No, that’s not happening.”

  “Do not test me, young man.”

  “Oh, yeah, old man? I’m showing her the truth—and you can’t stop me!”

  “Yes I can. As a matter of fact, I already have.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Our school invites police and firefighters to come in every year and scare us about using drugs. They tell horrific stories and show videos, plus we listen to recovering addicts—kids our own age who nearly ruined their lives. I remember this one girl had everybody crying during her story.

  Me? I have a father who gave me drugs.

  For my entire life. To “protect” me.

  Flashback: when I was little, my Dad made sure I couldn’t jump into my persona and accidentally reveal myself.

  So he and Julie’s mom got together and came up with a plan that also involved Zach.

  Fact: there are several drugs that can seriously affect our wreaths. My father was able to reproduce synthetic versions of two of them: “Wrrambien A and B.” The first prevents us from jumping into our personas. The second turns off our ability to translate languages. While growing up, we received both to keep our jumping and translating abilities inactive.