Mara rolled her eyes. “I hope some of the stuff in that book is true.”
“Why is that?”
“’Cause that means, somewhere out there, in some universe, I have a best friend who isn’t a total buttwad.”
“Maybe in one of those universes you’re not a total gearhead loser spending your Friday nights reading a physics book. Why don’t we go catch a movie or something?”
“Why don’t we just watch one here?” Mara waved over to the bureau beneath the front window that held the television set. “Mom’s out for the evening, and I can pop some popcorn and stay in my sweats.”
“Loser. Okay, but I want sweats, and you have to share the couch.”
“You run up to my room and grab some sweats, and I’ll get the popcorn.”
*
The tinny intro music of the local newscast woke Mara. She had fallen asleep during the first ten minutes of Juno while Ellen Page was telling her best friend she was pregnant via a hamburger phone. Mara looked around and noticed Abby’s jacket was gone, and made a mental note to text Abby and demand she return the sweats. Sliding up the arm of the couch to sit sideways with her legs extended across both cushions, Mara stretched and reached for the popcorn bowl nearby on the floor. She ignored the weather and sports teasers, and looked into the bottom of the bowl, finding only unpopped kernels. The microwave stuff never fully popped. Even the instructions on the package said unpopped kernels were to be expected.
She closed her eyes and imagined.
Something ricocheted off the side of the bowl. Something flew out of it, hitting her chin. Mara opened her eyes and watched the hardened corn jump, leap and burst open. A couple kernels flew across the room. Soon the bowl was half full.
“Who needs a microwave?” She lobbed some popcorn into her mouth, covered herself with the afghan and turned her attention to the footage of protesters waving Save Our Dogs signs on the screen.
While regularly reported on the local newscasts, protests in Portland were not exactly news. Portland has a cause for every corner, everything from eco-activists to organic militants. At first glance, the story looked to be about a run-of-the-mill group of dog owners upset about new rules at Mount Tabor Park. Dog owners frequently got worked up at tighter park regulations. Local television stations usually provided a platform for their grievances.
On the screen, a heavyset woman pulled at the reporter’s microphone. “This thing has attacked and probably killed three of our pets in the past week. What is it going to take to get the authorities to do something? Are we going to wait until it attacks a person or a child?”
The reporter, an impish-looking guy with an odd baritone, regained control of the mike and turned to the camera. “Jeff, Portland Police and the city parks department confirm they have received several reports of dogs being attacked in Mount Tabor Park. In three of the cases, dogs were dragged into the brush and owners say they can find no sign of them. Some people have conjectured that an aggressive group of raccoons or other wild animals have taken up residence in the park. Park officials say that is highly unlikely. We have one witness, Betsy Stewart, who says the attackers were not raccoons. Miss Stewart, tell us what you saw.”
A ponytailed woman in her twenties pushed her heavy rimmed glasses up her nose and said, “A man was walking along the path near that hill and something jumped out of the bushes on top of his dog, completely covered it so you could only see his tail.”
“You said something. What was it? An animal or a person?”
“I don’t know. You couldn’t see it. It looked solid, but it was camouflaged somehow, practically invisible. It swooped out of nowhere. I think it lifted the dog off its feet and took it into the woods. Whatever it was, it was bigger than a raccoon. I think it was as big as a man. That was not a little dog that was taken. It was a big yellow Lab. I heard the poor thing yelp and then nothing.”
“There was no sign of the dog in the woods? No prints or blood, nothing?”
“No, I helped the owner look for a couple hours. There was not a trace.”
“Thank you. Back to you, Jeff.”
CHAPTER 49
MARA PARKED HER car at a spot on Southeast Division Street near the entrance to the off-leash area of Mount Tabor Park, a four-acre patch of scrub and trees sloping toward the road separated from the rest of the park. She had been concerned about finding an empty parking space. Since most of the facilities—picnic areas, tennis courts, trails and amphitheater—were on the northern end of the nearly two-hundred-acre park, it was unlikely much parking was available on the south side where planners had placed the dog park, but she had been wrong.
A couple dogs and their owners dashed about along the grassy rise, one pair tossing and chasing a ball, the other chasing each other and jumping about. Farther down the sidewalk, two boys, maybe ten years old, huddled together. As she approached, they laughed and pushed each other, tussling over something they held. An orange blob popped out from between them and jiggled momentarily above their heads. They jumped and swatted at it, batting it toward Mara. It landed at her feet and exploded on the sidewalk, splashing green gelatin on her shins and feet.
“Gross, what is that?” Mara asked.
The two boys ran up, laughing, red faced, pushing and pulling at each other, on the verge of dropping onto the grass for an impromptu wrestling match.
“Look, Mark. You slimed her.”
“Me? I told you not to grab it. Now look what you did. That was the only one we had.”
“Hey!” Mara stepped forward to interrupt. “What was in that balloon?”
“It’s just Jell-O. Don’t have a conniption,” Mark said. “Shake it off before it melts. You’ll be fine. Come on, Austin.”
Austin laughed and snorted. That got Mark laughing. They turned to leave, slapping each other’s backs. “Conniption! What are you, forty?”
Mara shook her legs, and the gelatin did fall off. She looked after the boys as they walked away. “Hey, you guys should clean this up.”
Mark yanked Austin’s shirttail and emitted a screeching brakes sound. He turned to Mara. “I’ll pick up the balloon. Some dog will get the gelatin.”
“You could get a newspaper out of the trash can and pick up the gelatin.”
“That trash can is full of poop bags. I’m not sticking my hand in there,” Mark said.
Austin broke up, snorted again.
Mara bent down, picked up the orange balloon and handed it to Mark. He walked it over to the trash can.
Upon his return, his buddy grinned at him and said, “You’re a poop bag.” They began pushing each other once more.
“Have you guys heard anything about dogs disappearing here in the park?”
Mark had Austin in a headlock.
“Austin thinks it’s Sasquatch, don’t cha, Austin?” Mark twisted harder on Austin’s head. “The ’squatch came to the park for some hotdogs, huh?”
“You got a better idea?” Austin pulled loose and fell back on his butt.
“Do you know where in the park this happened?” Mara asked.
“My mom said two of the dogs disappeared here in the dog park, but one of them disappeared on the trails leading up to the summit,” Austin said.
“Our neighbor said someone saw something running around in the woods, something that can’t be seen,” Mark added.
“How can they see it, if it can’t be seen, Einstein?” Austin asked from the ground. Mark flung himself onto his friend’s chest in a classic pro wrestling body slam. They rolled around on the ground.
“Thanks, you guys.” Walking away, she called over her shoulder to them. “I’d be careful rolling around on the ground. Not every dog owner is good about cleaning up.”
*
Mara took a trail into the woods bordering the back of the off-leash area. She passed a middle-aged man strolling with his black Lab. He smiled and nodded, appeared unconcerned. The Lab, wagging his tail, sauntered over for a quick pet. Mara complied and then walked ahea
d. Though she was not familiar enough with the park to know for sure, it seemed quiet for a Saturday morning.
Her eyes scanned the brush and trees for anything unusual, whatever that might be. The density of the vegetation surprised her, especially given it stood in the middle of a dense urban area. It would be a perfect place to hunt, if someone were so inclined.
She came to a fork in the trail. Going right led back to where she had entered the woods. Left went deeper into the trees and brush. Not ready to go back, she turned left. As she moved closer to a wall of vegetation along the new path, out of the corner of her eye, something shimmered. She paused midstride, cocked her head to listen while she squinted at the leaves. It was more of a ripple, like thermals rising from a hot sidewalk, distorting the foliage bordering the trail. Except there was no sidewalk and no heat to distort the air.
Then it stopped.
Mara looked behind her. The rippling moved down the path, back the way she had come. It was not a breeze. It did not affect a wide area. Something unseen brushed against the plants, pushing leaves and branches out of its way as it moved down the path. Mara could almost make out something. She turned to follow.
It disappeared around a bend.
She jogged to catch up, but, when she got there, she saw no odd movement along the trail.
A branch snapped.
Someone walked a few feet off the trail, still heading back the way she had come. She stopped and listened for a few minutes. After taking a few short steps, she noticed a break in the brush, bent limbs and leaves pushed aside where someone had recently passed through, going deeper into the forest.
She stepped off the trail.
She took her time, trying to be quiet and to pace herself. She wanted whoever it was to stay ahead of her. Bumping into a stalker probably would not be a good strategy. Mara remembered Abby complaining about horror-movie heroines. Why do they always go up in the attic, huh? Why do they always go into the dark when they hear a strange sound? Only a nutjob would do that.
Right, a nutjob.
After ten minutes of tracking bent foliage, snapping sounds, real or imagined movements, Mara stopped and hid behind a maple trunk. Tension wore on her.
Movement caught her eye.
Crouched two feet off the trail, holding back a branch to get a better view, stood someone. Whatever camouflaged him was beginning to fail or fade. She could clearly see the outline of a man, still somewhat distorted, but clearly a man. He jerked his head upward, toward the skittering of a squirrel in the branches above, moving toward Mara’s hiding place. He released the branch and turned to face the noise overhead.
Thirtysomething, tall and muscular, the man wore nothing but a pair of cargo shorts. He wiped his brow and chest, slinging away some kind of gelatinous goo from his body. Mara’s gaze followed a glob as it landed in some brush. The leaves faded from sight. The more of the stuff he removed, the more defined and visible he became. Though his shorts and legs were still translucent and somewhat masked, his upper body and face were now visible.
He grabbed the trunk of a nearby tree and heaved himself upward with little apparent effort. Since he now faced her direction, Mara stepped back to put a small fir between them. If he went much higher, the canopy of limbs would provide her some cover as long as she didn’t move.
He scrambled higher toward the skittering sounds.
Mara tracked him as he leaped, tree to tree, branch to branch, chasing the squirrel, but failing to catch up to it. The man changed tactics. He angled away from his prey, trying to anticipate where it would go next. Positioning himself on a limb slightly lower and to the south, he bided his time. While he waited, he rubbed his hands over his body, occasionally cupping one under his mouth. In less than a minute, only his movements were discernible, and only if the light was just right.
The squirrel jumped onto a branch next to the camouflaged man. The man pivoted on his perch. A moment later, the squirrel rolled over onto its side, squealed and disappeared from view. Mara could barely make it out, but the translucent man held the struggling squirrel in his right hand. Leaning over it, he vomited goo onto the squirming animal, completely covering it. The man then inhaled, sucking the slime back into his mouth.
The squirrel was gone.
The man silently climbed down from the tree and snuck back to his position beside the trail. Again he appeared to be waiting for someone to come by. Waiting for more food.
He reapplied more gelatinous spit to his body while he waited. He became virtually invisible again, forcing Mara to cock her head at various angles to make sure he was still there.
Her arms and legs ached from being still. Just as she wondered how long he would wait for another meal to happen by, the hunter began to move, continuing to parallel the trail leading back to the off-leash area. She waited for him to get some distance away before moving. As he crept through the brush, she only risked walking when she heard him move and when she could see the movement of foliage ahead.
They progressed at a slow pace, but it appeared he was making his way back to the trailhead. Perhaps, since he had eaten—or absorbed, or whatever he called it—a meal, he planned to leave the park for now. Mara hoped.
When they got to the end of the trail and the edge of the brush that surrounded the open off-leash area, he stopped. He crouched in the overgrowth, looking out into the field. Mara stood too far back to see what, if anything, he stalked. The man rubbed himself, spitting more goo into his hand and rubbing it on his face and chest. He turned to scope out the field again. Mara sensed urgency, had the impression he was about to pounce. The muscles of the man’s shoulders tightened. He sprang forward, leaping into the open field.
Mara followed, crashing through the brush, branches slapping her face and torso. She cleared the woods, stopped to look down the sloping field. A solitary figure in a red polka-dot blouse sat on the ground with her back to the woods, tying her shoe. The semitransparent hunter, his backside not fully camouflaged, sprinted toward her, using both arms and legs, cheetahlike, to propel himself. Forty feet away, he launched himself into the air, limbs fully extended, diving at the little girl.
Mara raised her hands and yelled, “No!”
The hunter froze midpounce, a blur of color suspended in the air less than two feet from the girl. Mara jogged toward the floating smear hovering over the field; she could make out the glassy lattice that made up the frozen man, the pixels that now defined him. A light breeze followed her down the sloping hill. Translucent cubes of shifting hues broke apart from the fuzzy apparition, some falling to the ground, a few riding the wind, giving off glints of refracted light as they tumbled away and seeped into nothingness. A stronger gust blew past as Mara approached, scattering the last of the hunter in a burst of crystalline confetti that sprinkled over the little girl. She stood up, brushing off her polka-dot blouse. Turning around to face Mara, she looked to the sky confused and held out her hands as if checking for rain.
CHAPTER 50
MARA MADE A point of turning on the local news to see if there were any updates from Mount Tabor Park. She supposed it was conceivable the person she had tracked was not the only one skulking around the woods. For all she knew, there was a whole family of invisible goo-slurping carnivores loose in the park.
While she suffered through the weather teaser, the sports teaser and the too-friendly banter of the anchors, she began to wonder what had happened to the man in the park. Did he just disappear into nothing? Did she kill him? Could she have sent him back to where he came from?
A photograph on the television screen drew her out of her thoughts.
“If you have seen this man, please contact the Portland Police Department,” the anchor said. “Jared Smithers’ family reported him missing two days ago. Investigators say they have no leads and no evidence of foul play in the case. Again, if you have seen Jared Smithers, please contact the Portland Police Department.”
Mara was not sure, but the man in the photo might have been the on
e she had encountered in the park. She waited to see if the anchors said anything about him being in the plane crash last month, then it occurred to her that she could look it up. She grabbed the remote off the couch, turned off the television and walked upstairs to her room.
She sat down at the desk and stared at a framed schematic of Da Vinci’s winged flying machine while her laptop booted up. Once the familiar tone indicated the computer was ready, she went online to the Portland newspaper’s website. She opened the passenger list and saved a copy to her desktop. Jared Smithers was a passenger. It was him.
Her cell phone rang.
“It’s Ping. Have you heard from Carol Sandoval? She said she would give you a call.”
“Nothing so far, why?”
“Turns out Special Agent Suter and Detective Bohannon stopped by her house yesterday asking about the whereabouts of her husband. Apparently they are now looking into the disappearances of some of the passengers.”
Mara’s call-waiting tone sounded. “That’s probably her right now.”
“Go ahead and take it. Sam and I are on our way back from Mount Hood. We should be in town in about an hour or so, depending on traffic. Are you available for dinner?”
“Call me when you’re here, and we’ll meet up somewhere.” She hung up and picked up the other line.
“Mara? Carol Sandoval. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Absolutely. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. Just dealing with my sister-in-law down in Salem, who is hell-bent on finding out what happened to her brother. I guess I didn’t really think through the implications of his disappearance before deciding to send him back. She filed a missing person’s report with the police, and they came by last night.”
“Ping said you talked to the investigators looking into the plane crash.”
“Well, now they have expanded to include the missing persons’ cases related to the passengers. It appears several of them have disappeared without explanation,” Mrs. Sandoval said. “They showed me photos of you and Mr. Ping, and asked if I’d had any contact with you. I told them I had not, but they know I was lying.”
Broken Realms (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 1) Page 25