Planet Urth Boxed Set

by Jennifer Martucci

  Before Melissa was able ask another question, Eric rushed toward her, his face etched in stone. With his jaw set, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed to a line that bordered on frowning, Melissa braced for hostile words. The closer he loomed, the more terrified she became.

  “What the hell is his problem?” Alexandra asked, not realizing he was looking directly at Melissa.

  “I’m not sure, but I think it has something to do with me.”

  “The fuck it does! You’re not going through this shit anymore,” Alexandra said heatedly.

  Eric was upon them, his posture tense, threatening.

  “Melissa, I need to talk to you,” he said tersely.

  “Get the hell out of here, Eric,” Alexandra spat.

  He did not turn to look at Alexandra, did not even respond. He behaved as though he did not hear her.

  “Please Melissa, I need to speak with you; alone.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Eric,” Melissa heard herself say as her legs threatened to give way beneath her.

  “You don’t understand. It’s not like that,” Eric stressed.

  “Not like what, Eric? Not like you’re gonna tackle her in the woods? Or slap her?” Alexandra hissed.

  Melissa opened her mouth to speak, but the words were lost one her lips when she looked up to see Kevin rounding the corner, with Chris and John flanking him, headed straight toward her.

  Suddenly, her heart thundered in her ears, racing dangerously. Her stomach churned violently, her breakfast in danger of expulsion. Shaking and nauseated, Melissa stepped back and began to turn from Kevin.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry, Melissa?” Kevin taunted and smiled revealing the singular indent in his right cheek.

  “I would hate to think you’re leaving because of me,” he continued.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Alexandra urged tugging at Melissa.

  “She’s a big girl, Alex. Let her fight her own battles,” Kevin ordered.

  Melissa leaned back and whispered to Alexandra, “Go get Arlene. Hurry.”

  Arlene Cardwell, a retired corrections officer and current hall monitor was a no-nonsense enforcer of the rules. And she was not a fan of Kevin Anderson, living or dead.

  “I’ll be back with help,” Alexandra promised. “This bullshit is not starting again.”

  Melissa pushed forward.

  “I’d love to stay and chat Kevin, but I have to get to class,” she attempted.

  “Not so fast, bitch,” he spat. “We’re not finished here. In fact, we haven’t even begun.”

  “And what exactly does that mean?” she asked, though she feared she already knew the answer.

  “It means now that we’re back, things are going to be bad for you; unimaginably bad.”

  “What?” she asked incredulously as she felt the world spin on its axis.

  “And soon, your little pretty boy will be back to save you and we’re gonna finish him off.”

  “No, no, no,” she heard herself say.

  “Oh yes. And when we’re finished with him, we’ll have plenty of time to entertain ourselves with you,” he said and licked his lips. And then he leaned toward her and whispered with his lips nearly touching her ear, “When the three us finish having our fun with you, were finally going to fucking kill you.”

  Melissa did not remember fainting. She did not remember dropping her bag or hitting the cold, hard floor. She recalled seeing Kevin Anderson’s face haloed by the florescent overhead lighting, his sandy blond hair, expertly styled as usual, his deep brown eyes generously fringed with dark blond lashes and his gleaming white teeth. She recounted how contradictory it seemed, how incongruous it was, that he should retain such an innocent, angelic appearance while he spewed such venomous words. His full lips stretched across his bleached teeth seemed out of place, as inappropriate as a Ken doll manufactured as Jack the Ripper. His exterior was not representative of his interior. That was the last coherent thought she had before the world took on a nightmarish quality, eddying and swirling in a dizzying whirl of sounds and colors; And then, darkness.

  Chapter 11

  Eugene drove along the endless stretch of highway, oblivious of the monotony of travel, until an urge to kill awakened him from his slumberous state. Five months of inactivity had left him with a vague sense of fogginess, of digression from his true purpose. He was hesitant to precisely place what he was experiencing, but was relieved by the wonted and easily identifiable impulse to murder.

  No matter how strong the need to kill pressed, however, the unnamed feeling pressed as well. It inflamed him beyond explanation to reflect upon sensations that stirred within him beyond his yearning for bloodshed. Possessing emotion was a useless attribute unique to humans; he deemed pondering emotions more futile than humans themselves, as well as being an activity overindulged in. Nevertheless, for the purpose of identification, Eugene considered the feeling that threatened to ruin the realization of his hateful reverie.

  As he did so, he reached a shocking conclusion. The sensation he was experiencing was self-doubt. Designed free of the burden of emotion, he resisted the revelation at first, refused to concede to such a pedestrian sentiment. After all, a superior being like him did not feel anything profoundly beyond hate, least of all insecurity. In the interest of preserving the perfection of his single-emotion capacity he decided that insecurity threatened to hinder his potential performance and warranted immediate examination. He scrutinized the events before his five-month hiatus and immediately identified the culprit of his uncertainty: Gabriel.

  Gabriel James, the ever-present thorn in his side, was the reason he doubted himself. Gabriel had surprised him with his girlfriend, Melissa, who had unexpectedly made violent use of a kitchen knife, and her shotgun-wielding father. Both of them had joined forces with his nemesis and coordinated an attack. Neither Gabriel nor the pair of humans was capable of defeating him on their own. They had needed to arm themselves and unite to even pose a challenge. They had gotten lucky.

  Eugene allowed a bitter chuckle to escape him, found the pathetic trio’s victory unimpressive, laughable. Though their uninspiring conquest was just that, it had succeeded in putting him out of commission for an unacceptably long duration. Being confined to a steel creation tank, unable to do what he excelled at, for five long months had caused him to question his abilities. He worried his razor-sharp skills had been dulled. Fretting over his aptitude was unacceptable and a waste of time, time that needed to be spent gaining ground and getting closer to Gabriel.

  He determined that the best way to remedy needless worry was to reassure himself of his unique talent. He needed to prove to himself that he could perform at the same stratospheric level he’d always maintained. He needed to kill, soon, to confirm his competence.

  Healing in his maker’s augmented version of amniotic fluid had served its purpose; he felt strong, but unmotivated until the present.

  A fresh wave of wrath surged through him. He would kill again and redeem himself. He would kill Gabriel and Melissa, of that he was certain. But in the meantime, a practice exercise designed to sharpen his skill and bolster his confidence was necessary. A training drill involving multiple murders would serve both purposes.

  Under normal circumstances, unsanctioned murder was forbidden by his maker. Eugene seldom disobeyed his maker’s edicts. However, the nature of his predicament demanded revision to the rules in place, they demanded defiance. Continuous training had been an integral part of his development and remained a crucial component in maintaining his advantage over humanity. His DNA necessitated that he engage in regular hunting; therefore killing without orders from Terzini could not be considered wrong given the circumstances. His unofficial drill was an essential step in readying himself for his most important task: killing Gabriel and Melissa.

  Of course, he would not allow himself to diverge from his most momentous undertaking. His mission would remain on schedule. He would merely prepare along the way.


  Anticipation overcame Eugene. He felt obliged to answer the call to kill; he needed to act and immediately formulated a plan. Months of rejuvenation had left him with a thirst that needed to be satiated; he hadn’t realized its urgency until the root cause of his lethargy was identified.

  Behind the wheel of his behemoth Hummer H1 Alpha, a violent tremor racked his body. His grip on the steering wheel tightened as the wrath he longed for finally simmered and smoldered within. Indecision melted away and rage replaced it. He had many miles to travel before reaching Harbingers Falls and knew that such a distance would be impossible to close if he did not kill. The intrinsic need to pursue and conquer prey was woven into the fabric of his being; carnage was more than a simple desire for him. It beckoned him like a lustful lover and did not dismiss him until its need was met.

  Gripped by bloodlust, he pulled off the highway at the next exit and searched for a residential neighborhood. Densely populated areas composed of single-family living units invariably possessed wireless network technology within them. Wi-Fi, as it was commonly referred to was available in public domains such as coffee bars, bookstores and delicatessens, but Eugene had no interest in conducting research in a public place among dreadful humans. Instead he drove, navigating the stop-sign littered streets of a neighborhood filled with oversized homes set on too-small lots. He parked between two willow trees, a clearly undesirable place to park for most as its sagging branches all but covered any vehicle beneath it, and activated an app he purchased from an app store named WebGen. The application required that he type in the name of local wireless network providers first before several codes appeared. He selected codes at random until one granted him Wi-Fi access.

  Once properly locked in and logged on, he started searching for criminal activity between his current location and Harbingers Falls. He sought criminal activity in surrounding states, specifically those where the suspects or assailants had been identified in some way. He planned to target criminals because of their ineffectual function in society; the police would not bother wasting a tremendous amount of time or taxpayer dollars searching for their slayer. They would likely assume the deaths of delinquents as retaliatory, a drug deal gone awry or revenge for wrongdoings. Regardless, he was confident he would be doing the state a service by disposing of its offenders.

  As he perused various sites concerning useless factions of equally useless humans, he happened upon a particularly active and misguided group responsible for several incidents in the neighboring state of Pennsylvania. They called themselves white supremacists, a term he deemed positively absurd. The basic tenets of their membership stated that they expressly believed they were superior to all others racial and religious groups and therefore entitled to dominate them.

  As he narrowed his search, he learned that a local chapter of the neo-Nazi group had been orchestrating violent attacks on people who possessed deeper shades of pigmentation than themselves and those who worshipped differently. Eugene decided he would visit one of their local haunts. In fact, he needed to do so. No one would miss the bigoted miscreants, not even their kin who they likely sought to copulate with in order to preserve what they believed to be their true Aryan bloodlines.

  Eugene felt the corners of his mouth twist, bearing his lethally pointed incisors. He pulled them downward and suppressed a grimace that would likely startle fragile-minded and easily frightened humans.

  He focused his thoughts instead on slaughtering the beings who proudly assumed membership in an elitist club. He thought about the irony contained within such membership, how such lowly creatures could actually believe themselves better than others. No one particular group within the set of humanity could boast bragging rights; they were all inferior beings.

  Anticipation swelled within him. He began to tremble, barely able to contain his agitation, his eagerness. He would find a motel and rest for the afternoon before training exercises began that evening at a known hangout of the neo-Nazi gang that was believed responsible for many of the violent crimes committed in their neighborhood.

  He started his car and pulled out of concealment then proceeded down the tree-lined lane. He crossed several similar streets until he reached a main thoroughfare. He continued until he found a shabby-looking, no-name motel with two cars parked in front. He quickly turned in to the lot, climbed out of his vehicle and entered the motel office.

  After a brief encounter with an elderly man wearing the thickest eyeglass lenses he’d ever seen, Eugene procured a room at the far corner of the L-shaped outfit. He visited the vending machine and bought two sandwiches with questionable-looking meat and cheese inside and two colas before retiring to his room. He needed to rest before his much-anticipated pursuit commenced. And according to his research, he would be pursuing quarry accustomed to violence.

  His insides trilled at the thought of toying with adversaries familiarized with brutality and savagery. They made for a more interesting experience. Though his aggression invariably trumped theirs with ease, it was still far more exciting when victims offered a fight.

  He wrestled the urge to leave without delay and murder them in broad daylight, but reconsidered the ramifications of such actions. Terzini would be less than pleased. Instead, he ate his sandwiches and drank his colas and soothed himself into a vitriol-filled trance for the next four hours.

  Once the sun had set and the earth was blanketed in darkness, he roused himself from his meditation and prepared for his expedition.

  Chapter 12

  The faceless man had begun his journey, but hadn’t progressed in several days. His attention had been diverted. He had been watching someone of particular interest to him.

  He had found her by accident. Wandering through a wooded area on the outskirts of a small town in Pennsylvania, he had heard a sweet, melodious voice. He had never heard a sound so inviting, so enchanting. Drawn to it, he had felt compelled to follow it, to find the source of the captivating sound.

  And he did.

  As he expertly navigated a labyrinth of low-growing weeds and bramble, the voice began to sing a song about a farmer who had a dog unfortunately named Bingo. He had never heard such a song but was mesmerized by it. He had been so enthralled by the lyrics and intonation that the underbrush chafing at the delicate skin of his legs was numbed.

  Once he had arrived at a clearing, the sight he had beheld left him breathless.

  He was greeted by a field of plastic and metal arranged interestingly in an array of primary colors. Brightly painted and gleaming, each piece of equipment looked inviting. Chutes, some curved and some straight, sloped down from ladders in a variety of heights. U-shaped slabs of brilliant rubber dangled from chains enveloped in rubber tubing. Miniature horses and rocket ships wobbled precariously from large springs that emerged from the grass like bouncy blossoms.

  The faceless man had felt excitement well up inside of him, brimming and teeming like carbonated bubbles. At that moment, he had wanted nothing more than to climb over the short, chain-linked fence that separated him from the colorful wonderland and discover the purpose of each piece of apparatus.

  Just as he had raised a formidable foot to the top of the fence, movement beyond the playground had halted him. He had remained perfectly still, had waited to see what stirred.

  And then he saw her.

  Bathed in the ethereal glow of dusk, she had emerged from a haloed door and floated across a small patch of grass to a network of ropes held together by a pulley. She had held in her hands a large, rectangular piece of paper with over a dozen brightly colored handprints on it and began to affix it with clothespins. Once the paper had been properly hung, she stepped back to admire the shiny marks.

  The faceless man had gasped then struggled to exhale, sheer delight held him captive, spellbound, as her lips spread slightly at first, then so much so that her cheeks formed near-perfect circles on either side of her face. He had found her breathtaking.

  Much smaller in stature than he with thin, fragile-looki
ng limbs, she had light blonde hair that was cropped closely to the nape of her neck and at the sides. The top hung like flaxen veils across her forehead and framed her elfin features, each tiny and refined, save for her eyes. Her eyes were pools of deep brown. Striking and large and fringed generously with long lashes, they penetrated the growing darkness and were unmistakable despite the onset of twilight. They had peered into the early evening as if they had looked right at him. He had imagined that her eyes held him briefly; that she looked directly at him, even though he knew she had gazed at some distant point beyond him, before she returned her focus to the hodgepodge of prints hanging from cording. Then she had turned and reentered the lighted building.

  The faceless man had known then that he would have to see her again.

  Each day since, he had returned to that same spot in the woods behind Sunbeams Nursery School and watched her. He had risked exposure by lurking in the daylight hours rather than sleeping. But sleep had evaded him. His mind had refused to rest. He had needed to see her. His need supplanted whatever jeopardy he placed himself in.

  He had spent each of the last three days watching as she shepherded a dozen children from the building to the outdoor play area. He had observed her delight at their enjoyment. They would run and frolic in the warm sunshine of early spring chasing butterflies or picking flowers. She had read them stories and sang songs with them. She had never yelled at them or shrieked. She had not beaten them nor had she attacked them. In fact, her actions had been tender and affectionate, gentle. She was the epitome of kindness.

  He had known from observation that the spritely, doe-eyed woman was incapable of meanness. He had been certain of it. So sure was he that on the fifth day of surveillance, a rainy day, he had become emboldened by confidence and ambled up to a window of the building. He had crouched in a clustering of tall shrubs and afforded himself a closer view. The pane had been raised to allow fresh air to circulate. Fortunately for him, it also awarded him the privilege of hearing her voice.