Planet Urth Boxed Set

by Jennifer Martucci

  In an invigorating turn of events, he was told he would not be subjected to the torturous task of waiting indefinitely for Gabriel to arrive in America and subsequently, Harbingers Falls. According to Terzini, Gabriel had taken the proffered bait and returned to rescue his beloved Melissa. Gabriel was such a fool, attempting to uphold sterling moral rectitude and adhering to emotionally driven urges. Eugene felt nauseated by Gabriel’s inflated sense of righteousness and romantic impulses and felt them encroach upon his excitement, the thrill of a sanctioned murder.

  Gabriel’s pathetically human emotions threatened to sully his anticipatory delight. Eugene would not allow for such an imposition, despite his extreme misgivings toward Gabriel and his foolish quest to rescue a useless human being. He would not surrender the power of pending pleasure to a sanctimonious savior.

  Hate bubbled inside of him. Eugene could not wait to kill them both, to see their wretched faces as they met with their fate: him.

  He also yearned to exterminate the three teenage fools Terzini had shoddily constructed. His maker had decided that he would recreate Kevin, Chris and John, an act Eugene had serious reservations about. His issues with their creation were not a matter of ethics; it was personal. He remembered their murders vividly, and felt somehow deprived of the intensity of his remembrance knowing a variation of their DNA existed on the same planet he walked upon. Moreover, his maker seemed to put far less effort into their creation than with his previous handiworks.

  Terzini’s recent endeavors lacked the education and refinement both he and Gabriel possessed. They were endowed with brute strength, but little in the way of anything else. Without the ability to think on a higher plane than the average man, their power was virtually invalid. Eugene believed their lowly function was an utter waste of his maker’s genius and an affront to the concept of enhanced humans. What Terzini did was simply replace Kevin, Chris and John with stronger, faster version of their original selves. Eugene disdained them and the entire project, but Terzini deemed their existence as crucial to drawing Gabriel out of hiding, and as usual, he had been right.

  The sensation their reemergence caused generated media coverage. Media coverage caught Gabriel’s attention and lured him from whatever hole he’d hidden in and returned him to Harbingers Falls, and a certain death.

  The scent of their death would be intoxicating, exhilarating. Melissa Martin’s natural secretions intermingled with fear and the sweet-smelling fragrance he hoped she’d be wearing lingered in his olfactory memory. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of it. The only element that could further enhance the aroma would be the addition of blood.

  He could not wait to murder her, to hear her preliminary screams and pleas for mercy. Of course, he would never extend her the courtesy of compassion; it was not in his genetic makeup.

  Eugene’s insides begin to trill once again as bile inundated him, submerged him into dark, deep dominions of venomous hate. The vitriol he felt engulfed him fully, the thought of multiple deaths teased at him like white-hot flames searing and scorching his flesh from the inside out.

  As his rage sweltered and blazed, he began to unconsciously depress the accelerator pedal of the Hummer. He trembled involuntarily, no longer able to control the excited rage that boiled inside of him, and stepped down harder on the gas lever. The powerful engine of the H1 Alpha resisted at first, balking at its substantial weight then surged forward explosively.

  The world rushed toward Eugene in a swirl of exaggerated colors, all bright and garish, a kaleidoscopic melee of hues. The barrage of shapes and shades coupled with his overwhelming bloodlust distracted him from his handling of the Hummer. He did not realize his acceleration exceeded speed limitations until an equally loud and tasteless display of vulgarity distracted him from behind.

  He glanced up at his rearview mirror only to see a riot of flashing lights. Confused by the brash and glinting display following him, he looked to his speedometer and saw that it revealed he was traveling at ninety miles per hour.

  The patrol car that trailed keened loudly, added incessant wailing to its offensive overall presence. It then began issuing a series of electronic buzzes in addition to the chaotic cacophony that sounded, a clear indication he was being summoned to the side of the road.

  Though it galled him to adhere to the pedestrian rules and regulations of humanity, he conceded they were incumbent. He would’ve liked nothing more than to continue driving and ignore the orders of the law-enforcement officer, but he knew that doing so would have proved problematic. Not only would he be unable to outrun the far-reaching network of agents that spanned the highway and bled into each county and town, he also did not wish to aggravate his maker by risking exposure. Both exposure and provocation would result in his termination. He could not risk termination; the world deserved him, after all.

  Eugene decelerated and pulled his car to the shoulder of the highway. He watched as an officer parked his cruiser approximately twenty feet behind the Hummer. He saw the officer hesitate before exiting, clearly taking time to input Eugene’s license plate number into the state Motor Vehicle Database to preview who owned the vehicle, and whether or not the owner had any outstanding warrants or other violations.

  Once the police officer ascertained that his car held no warrants, he would undoubtedly approach the driver’s side of the Hummer and issue Eugene a summons for his excessive rate of travel. Terzini would not be thrilled with a speeding infraction. The incident would result in undesirable attention.

  Eugene reached to the passenger seat and grabbed his baseball cap and dark sunglasses. He placed the hat on his head and pulled the brim low over his forehead and concealed his widely spaced, honey-colored eyes with the sunglasses.

  He had just clothed himself in both articles when he noticed a uniformed man approaching from the rear of his Hummer. He noticed immediately how he strutted with swagger; his chest thrust out, arms at his sides with one hand placed casually on his revolver.

  Clad in gray wool trousers and jacket and a wool open road Stetson with a leather security strap, the man strode with confidence but caution, his hand readied at his exposed and holstered weapon. His tie and the band of his hat were purple, a distinction of membership to an elite group. Eugene suppressed a smile at the notion that any insignificant human could consider himself elite.

  Burly and broad of shoulders, the man moved with fluidity that was surprising. His uniform and patrol car indicated he was a state highway patrolman and therefore more heavily armed and held a significant amount of training. Eugene possessed such information from extensive education that enlightened him with innumerable facts and details. From this, he could infer that the officer had already informed his command post of the traffic stop; fellow officers were aware of his location, and aware that he was with a person identified as Eugene Smith.

  Eugene knew it was imperative that he wait patiently, accept his speeding ticket and whatever admonishments the officer elected to give and be on his way. With just two hours to go before he reached Harbinger Falls, he did not want to be slowed by a dispute with a law-enforcement officer. Yet, being chastised by an insignificant human was degrading, insufferable. He felt a surge of wrath shoot through him with such force he nearly pitched forward.

  Within seconds, a large hand by conventional human standards rapped on the driver’s side window of his Hummer. He lowered his window and heard the whooshing of cars as they raced by. In his side view mirror, the gray wool-clad man loomed.

  “License and registration,” he boomed.

  Eugene reached into his wallet and produced the requested documents then carefully handed them to the officer, all the while breathing steadily to keep waves of rage at bay. The officer looked to the identification and then to Eugene.

  “Please remove your sunglasses, sir,” he ordered impatiently.

  “What for?” Eugene asked.

  “Sir, remove the glasses, please.”

  “I realize I was speeding and will happily a
ccept and pay whatever tickets you give me, but why do I need to remove my glasses?” Eugene asked and swallowed rising fury.

  “Sir, in order to be certain that the man pictured in this driver’s license is you, I need to be able to see your face, all of it.”

  Eugene grew increasingly agitated by the officer’s patronizing tone. How dare he command him to remove his glasses? Feeble-minded humans awarded small badges and a sidearm could assume authority over the masses, but not him.

  “I don’t see how it is necessary,” Eugene began, fighting to keep his tone even, respectful, but was interrupted abruptly.

  “Sir, I am not going to ask you again. Remove the sunglasses, now,” the officer barked.

  Eugene noticed in his peripheral field of vision that the officer’s right hand had unsnapped his holster. He had begun to draw his weapon. He felt his anger mount.

  Once his gun was in his hands, he aimed it at Eugene and in an authoritative voice said, “Step out of the car, sir.”

  Eugene did not move.

  “I said, step out of the car!”

  Eugene remained still, contemplating his next move. It appeared as though a suitable option did not exist. His anger had mounted far beyond his control. He opened the driver’s side door and slowly stepped out of his vehicle.

  As he rose before the officer placing his massive and stunning form in full view, he noticed how quickly his confident demeanor transformed. His eyes widened; his mouth hung open. He regarded Eugene with awe, with reverence.

  Eugene longed to crush him like the insect he was.

  But such an undertaking had not been authorized. He needed to calm himself.

  “Put your hands on the vehicle and spread your legs!” the officer shouted.

  Eugene found it impossible to calm down while the arrogant human, undoubtedly inflated beyond measure by his meaningless victory of threatening him into supposed submission, shouted at him. He felt his legs begin to tremble, temper overtake him.

  “Is there some kind of law against wearing sunglasses on a sunny spring day?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Keep your hands on the car and your mouth shut. I’m the one asking questions now.”

  Any attempt at calmness escaped him and was replaced with all-consuming ire.

  “So you feel there is a reason other than my sunglasses to treat me as a criminal?” Eugene asked acidly.

  “You’re behaving suspiciously, so I’m treating you accordingly,” the officer said as he patted Eugene’s legs from his groin to his ankles.

  Eugene became indignant at such intrusive probes. He began to turn his body toward the officer, his breathing ragged and shallow.

  “Sir, I said hands on the car!” the officer roared.

  A violent tremor racked Eugene’s body, his temper beyond his control. He turned his head to one side and watched as a cluster of cars passed. The highway was not crowded; traffic had been light. The second Eugene saw that no cars approached, he spun and grabbed the officer’s right wrist, the one that held his revolver, and bent it forcefully. The bone beneath his fingers yielded as readily as a dry twig. The officer cried out in pain. Eugene savored his pain. The gun fell to the ground.

  He cupped the officer’s head in his hands, regretted he could not enjoy the moment, make it linger, but time was a constraint. He snapped the officer’s head quickly and forcefully to one side, effectively breaking his neck in one swift motion. Life escaped him instantly. His body fell slack against Eugene.

  Eugene picked him up and hurled him over the Hummer and into the bordering woods, out of view of oncoming traffic, taking caution to relieve him of his Stetson and the shiny star on his breast before doing so.

  Several cars approached then passed. Eugene felt confident that no one had seen what had happened. When the highway was clear again, he walked from his Hummer to the police cruiser and grabbed the keys from the ignition. He then used the keys to unlock and open the trunk then retrieved the officer’s body from the brush. With no cars passing in either direction, he tossed the officer’s corpse into the trunk of the cruiser and slammed the trunk shut.

  Eugene went back to his Hummer and grabbed a duffel bag from the back seat and placed it on his lap and waited patiently for another lull in traffic before driving it off of the shoulder of the highway and into the surrounding woods. He knew his plates had been radioed in to the state trooper’s command center. His car and his identity had been disclosed to a dispatcher with the range and capability to notify other officers of his infraction. He needed to halt that from happening.

  As soon as the roadway was clear once again, Eugene grabbed his duffle bag, dashed to the cruiser and situated himself in the driver’s seat. He immediately radioed in that no speeding violation was committed, but that an equipment violation was issued. He then opened his bag and pulled out a charcoal-colored wool sweater and pulled it on. He placed the Stetson he removed from the highway patrolman atop his head, pinned the gold badge to his sweater and drove off in the direction of Harbingers Falls. He planned to wrap things up in just a few short hours, hopefully before state authorities discovered the missing officer or his Hummer in the woods off the highway.

  Chapter 24

  Gabriel tested the engine of the Cherokee as he raced to Melissa’s house on Blackstone Drive. For reasons he could not explain, urgency surrounded his return. He felt compelled to get there as quickly as possible, that a second tour of her house would reveal crucial evidence. Tension coiled tightly within him, twisting and winding tauter the closer he got to her home.

  When her street finally came into view, he felt as though his compactly wound worry would launch his body and propel him forward like a canon straight in to her house and enable him to initiate a frantic search for a clue that suggested her whereabouts. He knew that more orthodox methods would be employed as opposed to blasting through her front door but struggled internally to manage his fear for her safety. Without a hint of her location, Gabriel felt helpless, powerless.

  Once on Blackstone Drive, he noticed that nearly every driveway stood unoccupied by vehicles indicating that most people were out, their homes empty. Gabriel had fleetingly entertained the notion of knocking on the doors of some of Melissa’s neighbors to find out if they had seen her leave or had noticed anyone out of the ordinary coming or going from her house. Given the scarcity of available neighbors, his idea became void.

  Instead, he parked a few houses away from hers and hesitated before opening the driver’s side door. From where he sat, he stared at the white vinyl-sided structure wondering what he had missed in his initial search.

  “We’ll find her, Gabriel,” Alexandra assured him as if his thoughts were obvious. But her voice sounded unconvincing.

  “We missed something. We must have,” Gabriel replied.

  “And we’ll find it now,” Yoshi said confidently before opening the back door of the Cherokee.

  Gabriel and Alexandra followed him and they proceeded cautiously up the hill. Gabriel had left Melissa’s bedroom window unlocked as it had been during their first visit but closed the pane instead. This detail proved useful as it allowed him access a second time. He climbed the massive oak and let himself in just as he did earlier. Once inside, he descended the staircase and opened the front door for Alexandra and Yoshi.

  After Yoshi crossed the threshold, he immediately began utilizing his hunting skills that included tracking based upon intuition and basic senses as opposed to logical search methods that suggested they begin looking in Melissa’s bedroom. Instead he moved about the main level of the house and allowed himself to be guided by a more comprehensive force than mere logic offered.

  “We’re going up to Melissa’s room,” Gabriel said to Yoshi. “You’re staying down here?”

  “Yes,” Yoshi replied.

  “Something’s not right here,” Alexandra said cryptically.

  Before Gabriel and Alexandra reached the top of the staircase, they heard Yoshi call out to them.

 
“Guys, get down here!”

  Gabriel’s mind reeled as the horrific image of Eric’s badly beaten corpse flashed through it. He bounded down the staircase taking two at a time until he reached the bottom and ran in the direction of Yoshi’s voice with Alexandra following after him.

  He reached the family room at the rear of the house and noticed that the door stood ajar and Yoshi was nowhere in sight.

  “Yoshi?” Gabriel called.

  “Out here!” Yoshi called back.

  Gabriel stepped out into the pale light of the backyard. The sky, several shades paler than it had been earlier, had been encroached upon. Ashen clouds, dull and dirty, advanced from the west and pressed slowly soiling and sullying stretches of pastel blue in its wake. The green of the grass, emerald earlier, looked a drab hue of olive in the muted light of late afternoon.

  “What is it Yoshi?”

  “Well, for starters, the door to that room was left unlocked and open slightly,” Yoshi gestured to the door off the family room that led to the backyard.

  “It wasn’t like that before, was it?” Alexandra asked.

  “We never checked,” Yoshi answered. “It looked normal to me at a quick glance.”

  “Me, too,” Gabriel added.

  “I wouldn’t have noticed it either if I wasn’t staring at the deadbolt. I saw that it wasn’t engaged and then saw light passing through the doorjamb. Anyway, the door was unlocked and open, so I walked out onto the porch and look what I found,” Yoshi pointed to rain-softened grass that had been pressed down flat and smeared in a trail. Beside it were a set of large footprints.

  “What the hell am I looking at?” Alexandra asked.

  “Footprints,” Yoshi replied.

  “I see that. But what does that have to do with finding Melissa? Anyone could have made those prints.”

  “Look beside the prints,” Gabriel interjected. “That mark looks like something or someone was dragged.”

  Alexandra’s golden complexion paled and her dark eyes grew wide, began to fill with tears.