Alien Home

by Mark Zubro

  Joe said, “I’ll do everything I can to make sure nothing bad happens.”

  Jack nodded.

  They got out. Mike had to fumble with the dead bolt on the garage’s side door. He’d fumed at it for months. He figured with all the high tech around him, he should be able to get a can of WD-40 and fix the damn thing. He just never got around to it.

  A second after he heard it click open, the door burst out of his hand. Jack’s father leapt into the garage.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lennon Kazakel thrust Mike out of the way. Mike could smell his rancid body odor mixed with whiffs of marijuana and booze. His eyes were blurry and unfocused. Kazakel dove straight at Jack who sidestepped and tripped his dad. Kazakel fell hard on the cold cement floor. He jumped back to his feet. Mike scrambled up and prepared to join the fray between father and son.

  “No!” Jack commanded. He pointed at Mike and Joe. “Please stay out of this.” Jack drew hard, ragged breaths. His voice was in a deeper register than Mike had ever heard before. Jack whispered, “I’ve been waiting for this a long time.” He looked at Joe. “Don’t do anything, please.”

  Both Joe and Mike nodded. Mike was prepared to respect his nephew’s wishes up to the point that Mike felt it necessary to intervene on Jack’s behalf.

  While Jack was looking at them, his father launched another attack. Jack might have been expecting it, or maybe his training as a wrestler caused him to dodge at the last second. As his father passed him, Jack took him by the hair and belt and, using Kazakel’s momentum, smashed the front of his father’s face against the passenger side window. It cracked.

  Kazakel moaned. Rivulets of blood streaked down his forehead.

  Jack let him go and stepped back.

  “Jack,” Mike said then realized he didn’t know what to say at such a primal moment.

  They watched Jack’s father brace himself against the side of the car. Kazakel used the support to pull himself to his feet. When the man was wobbling but upright, Jack said, “You worthless piece of shit. I don’t want you near me. I want you to die.”

  Kazakel wiped the side of his face with his hands. “Are these two fucking faggots busting your buns as much as I did? I found out how it feels in prison. I’m back to make you suffer the way I did. You’ll love it like you did when you were a kid.”

  “It’s never going to happen again.”

  Mike was surprised at the glacial calm in Jack’s voice.

  Kazakel lunged toward his son. The teenager made a deft side step. Jack and his father were now on opposite sides of the rear end of the car. Joe and Mike stood near the engine.

  Jack’s breathing was shallow, his voice very soft but still unnaturally deep, “They’re better than any fathers I could have ever dreamed. They love me, and I love them. They would never even think of touching me the way you have. If you come near us again, I will kill you.”

  Kazakel said, “I’ve told the police about your magical blue glow and how you took off into the lake. I know something strange is going on. I don’t know what it is, but I do know I’m going to fuck up your lives worse than you fucked up mine.”

  He plunged across the car toward Jack. The boy didn’t flinch but waited for him to arrive. When his dad’s left wrist flicked into reach, Jack grabbed, twisted, and then spun his dad around until the older man was on the ground behind the car. Kazakel’s body rested on three points: the side of his face, his left knee, and tip of his right shoe. Jack straddled him with a leg planted on either side of his dad’s torso. He still held the wrist so that Kazakel’s arm was twisted awkwardly behind him. Joe and Mike moved to either side of the rear of the car.

  Kazakel began bellowing. “Let me go, you mother-fucking little faggot whore!” Kazakel may have been working out in prison, but his son was years younger and a champion wrestler and had a far greater righteous wrath.

  Jack roared, “Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit.” Jack twisted the wrist he still firmly held. Kazakel writhed and thrashed and screamed. At the top of his lungs Jack shouted into his father’s ear, “If you try to move, I will rip your arm off.”

  If the kid gave another yank, Mike thought this just might happen. Mike had never seen this much passion in a person’s actions or tone of voice. Mike’s fights with his parents as a teenager never came close to the drama unfolding before him. All of Jack’s childhood pain was concentrated in his total wrath toward the man he held down.

  Jack pressed his knees into his father’s back until the man was prone on the ground. Kazakel still whimpered every few seconds, but he’d ceased struggling.

  “Now, you listen to me.” Jack still breathed hard, his voice was even deeper and thicker, thrumming with emotion. His face contorted, his lips close to his father’s ear, his words crackled harsher than the bitter cold outside. “Uncle Mike and Joe love me and treat me the way a parent should. You will not disparage them. You will not come near us. We don’t need a judge’s restraining order. Believe this now. If you touch me again, I. Will. Kill. You.” He spaced the last four words between great intakes of breath.

  Mike watched his nephew’s face, red with passion and physical strain. He believed his nephew was capable of lethal violence at that moment. He was sympathetic with Jack’s rage. Mike also knew he would step in if the boy started to make any move that could lead to him carrying out his threat.

  Jack continued, his voice becoming very soft, he repeated, “I will kill you if you touch me again. If you even get near any of the three of us, I will hurt you enough to put you in a hospital. Believe me, I can do it. I know every lethal wrestling trick there is.”

  This was news to Mike who’d always thought of high school wrestling as a structured and tame form of violence.

  Jack shook his father as he asked, “Do you hear me? Do you understand? You will do no more harm.”

  Jack’s dad drew a deep breath and bellowed, “Fuck you!” He tried to heave himself up and swiped at Mike’s leg with his free hand. Jack took the wrist he held in both hands and twisted with all his might. His dad’s back arched up. He screamed in agony, did a half flip, and then thudded to the ground head first. His skull banged loudly on the concrete.

  Silence.

  Continuing to breathe hard, Jack stared down at his dad. Mike came up and stood next to him. Jack let go the wrist. It flopped at an unnatural angle next to his dad’s body. Mike put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. Tears ran down the boy’s face. In a sudden movement, the boy jumped away from his dad’s torso. He flung his arms around his uncle, buried his face in Mike’s jacket front, and began to sob.

  Mike held him tightly. The boy wept for several minutes. Mike had never felt more sorry for anyone than he did for his nephew at that moment. No child should have gone through what Jack did at the hands of his father. His own anger at Jack’s dad’s behavior was subsumed for the moment in pity and worry for his nephew.

  As Jack’s sobs subsided, the teenager mumbled, “I hate him. I hate him. I hate him,” until his voice was drowned in gulps and hiccups.

  “Sssh,” Mike soothed and patted Jack’s back and caressed the back of his head. “Shhhh, you’re okay. Everything is going to be okay. Sssh.” It took several minutes for Jack’s crying to subside to sniffles.

  Joe had moved next to the body. Jack took half a step away from Mike’s embrace and looked down at his dad. “Did I kill him?”

  Joe touched the body in several places. “He’s alive,” he announced. “I believe you dislocated his shoulder.”

  “Throw him out in the snow and let him freeze,” Jack said.

  Mike said, “Much as I hate him, we can’t. We should try to get him to a hospital.”

  Jack said, “You’re kidding?”

  Kazakel began to moan. Joe stood up and moved away. Mike noted that he placed himself between father and son. Kazakel tried pulling himself up with both hands. He yelped and fell back. He touched his left shoulder with his right hand. He gave a smaller yelp. He tried pulling himself up with
one hand. A quarter of the way up, he struck his dislocated arm on the side of the car, gave a louder yelp, and sat back down. His first coherent words were, “You busted my arm, you fucking brat.”

  Mike left Jack’s side and squatted down next to Kazakel. “We’ll take you to a hospital, then talk to a lawyer and the police. We’re never going to let you harm Jack again.”

  With a roar the man rose to his feet. One arm dangled. He made a swipe at Mike with his good arm. He missed. He staggered from the movement and banged his bad shoulder on the edge of an old dresser. He howled in pain.

  Mike pressed the button to open the garage door. The cold wind blew in wisps of snow.

  “Get out!” Mike ordered.

  After glaring at the three of them for several seconds, Kazakel stumbled out into the driven snow. He had the bare remnants of the car’s melted path to follow. Before Mike lowered the garage door, they watched him stumble into the street at the end of the alley.

  The garage door thumped closed. Joe grabbed the probe from the back seat. All three drew deep breaths and tottered through the drifts to the house. They saw the outlines of Kazakel’s footsteps where he had come around the house to confront them at the garage. Minutes later they assembled in the kitchen.

  They notified the police and, despite the fact that it was just after five in the morning, their lawyer about the incident with Kazakel. The cops said that since there was no immediate danger, it might be a while before anyone would come over. All emergency services still had their hands full with all the snow. Mike said he thought the man might try to do them harm. The cop on the other end of the line told him to call when and if Kazakel showed up again.

  Mike phoned his sister and left a message on her voice mail. He called his mother in case Rosemary was there. His mom said that Rosemary was staying at a friend’s whose number she did not have.

  Mike began making hot chocolate, Joe’s and his nephew’s favorite drink. Mike also found some homemade peanut butter cookies. Neither Jack nor Joe ever seemed to worry about their weight. When not on his special wrestling diet, Jack could rival Meganvilia in caloric intake. Mike ran and worked out and was in good shape, but he did not snarf down sweets either in the quantity nor at the rate the other two did. But if comfort food was ever needed, this was it.

  Mike also set a pint of each one’s favorite ice cream in front of them. It was Joe and Jack’s second favorite food, with large quantities cramming the freezer at all times. Joe had been on a strawberry kick for a month and a half. He was determined to work his way through all of Baskin Robbins’ flavors. Once in a while, Jack varied from chocolate chip cookie dough although in a pinch he would switch to Rocky Road with nuts on top. Mike liked a variety. This week he had white chocolate gelato.

  “A very early breakfast, but a very perfect breakfast,” Jack said as he observed the cookies, ice cream, and hot chocolate. When Mike placed a vat of chocolate sauce and cashews on the table, Jack added, “Even more perfect.”

  “We need it,” Mike said.

  After several moments of indulging in the assembled confections, Mike asked Jack, “Are you okay? Do you need to talk?”

  Jack loaded his soup spoon with ice cream, chocolate sauce, and cashews. He ingested all of it in one teenage gulp then gazed earnestly at Mike. “I win the state wrestling championship. I learn that I’m living with an alien who my uncle loves and who is in love with him. Then I see they’re protected by some kind of personal force fields. I take a brief swing around the solar system in an intergalactic ship. I return to Earth to beat the hell out of my own dad.”

  He took another large scoop of ice cream, slopped more chocolate on top, dumped more cashews over all, and devoured the entire mass. “I’m a little disoriented, a lot tired.” He paused and thought for several moments. He scraped his spoon in the depths of his pint of ice cream.

  He forbore another mouthful and said, “I should be happy, exhilarated, and scared, and I guess I am. I should have a million questions, and I suppose I do. A space ship. Wow.” He sighed. “But mostly I am totally pissed about my dad. I wish I didn’t hate him so much.”

  Mike said, “Whether you ‘want’ to hate him or not, you do. After what he did to you, it’s a reaction that makes sense.”

  “I wanted to kill him out there in the garage. I know I could have, easily. He was so stupid and drunk or stoned. I could have snapped his neck.” He looked at the two of them. “Does that make me a bad person?”

  “No,” Mike said. “The important thing is you recognize the feelings and that you didn’t do it.”

  “I’m not sure why I didn’t. Maybe because you guys were there.” He took a large bite of peanut butter cookie and a drink of hot chocolate. “Maybe because I enjoy eating with you guys like this. They don’t have this kind of thing in prison, do they?”

  Mike said, “Or maybe you’ve got a strong sense of what is right that guides you.”

  “If I do, I learned it from you guys.”

  Mike watched the rest of the cookie disappear at a speed only an active teenager could achieve. He realized that they had not eaten at all since Saturday night. No wonder the boy was devouring food at such a rate.

  Mike felt a little nonplused at Jack’s compliment. While he always tried to act in line with a sensible moral compass, he wasn’t used to someone giving him credit for acting properly. He remembered that Jack had expressed his love for Mike and Joe while raging at his dad. The teenager seemed unaffected by his honesty. Jack’s words made him feel giddy and proud.

  Jack sipped hot chocolate and then picked up his spoon. He said, “He’s going to be back.”

  “I could alter his thought patterns,” Joe said.

  “Are you allowed to do that?” Jack asked.

  “My training says, ‘No.’ Mike told you about the implants?”

  Jack nodded.

  “My implants mitigate against it. However, I could do enough to Kazakel. I could at least make him more docile.”

  “Could you kill him?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, but I won’t.”

  Jack nodded again. “I want him to go away. I want to never see him again. I want to not feel so much hate.”

  Mike said, “I know four years feels like a long time, and the wounds he created in you go very deep. You’ve made a terrific recovery. Only time will heal all the anger and hate. I wish it was easier than that, but it’s not.” Mike patted Jack’s arm. “We’ll do everything we can to stop him.”

  “He will never hurt you again,” Joe said. “I promise you that. I will use all the power at my disposal no matter what my training says, to make sure you are never harmed by him again.” Mike had never before heard Joe use the tone and the finality with which he spoke at that moment.

  Jack reached across the table and hugged each of them.

  The announcer on the radio told them that all Chicago schools would be closed for Monday.

  Mike checked their answering machine. There was a message from Meganvilia. All he said was, “Are you guys all right?” In any emergency Mike would feel comfortable calling on Meganvilia, who might be the epitome of a stereotypical drag queen, but in a crisis was the most calm and collected of anyone he knew. Mike figured Meganvilia hadn’t called multiple times because he knew Mike would call when he got the chance. After they finished eating, he called Meganvilia’s cell phone. It was a little after six.

  Meganvilia said, “What the hell is going on?”

  “We had to get back to town.” He paused. Meganvilia waited. He was the kind of friend who was dying to know but wouldn’t push if he sensed Mike was reluctant to explain.

  Mike gave the part of the truth he could. “Jack’s dad followed us.” He told Meganvilia about the encounter in the garage.

  “Anything you need me to do?” Meganvilia asked. “When we couldn’t find you, we packed up your rooms. We’ve got Jack’s trophy. We cleared everything with the hotel people. They had your credit card number on file. We told them you had to lea
ve for an emergency. Jack can hide out at our house if he needs to.”

  “Thanks for the offer. I don’t think it’ll come to that. Where are you guys?”

  “Waiting for the final clearance from the airport here so we can fly to Chicago. We’ve waited for hours, but we should be back soon.” Meganvilia had refused to drive with them to Champaign. He claimed he only took limousines such distances. Ray had said that in all the time he’d known him, Meganvilia had never driven such a distance before in or out of a limousine. A few minutes later after promising to fill Meganvilia in when he could, Mike hung up. He realized it was unlikely that he would ever be able to tell the drag queen the whole story. Mike felt odd about that.

  Mike knocked on Jack’s door as the teenager was getting ready for bed.

  “You okay?” Mike asked.