The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel

by Melissa Riddell

  “God, Mamma.” I throw some cherry tomatoes into the salad and give it a shake. “Have some faith in me.”

  “I do, Tilly.” She removes an outer blue scrub jacket and lays it over her forearm. “But this—” She sweeps out a hand. “—usually means you had a visit with Mr. Sanders.”

  Throwing some Italian dressing on the lettuce, I finally meet her gaze.

  “Well?” She props a hand on a hip. “I’m waiting.” A sneakered foot taps the linoleum-covered floor.

  “I whacked Emory upside the head with my backpack.” My stare slides away, and my cheeks feel like they’re combusting. Wonder how long I’ll be grounded this time?

  Mamma drapes the jacket over the back of a chair and sits. The early evening light from the window glints on her straight red hair, creating fiery strands of copper.

  “How many times have I told you to control your temper?” She sighs.

  I’d rather her yell and scream at me instead of this forlorn worry.

  “But Mamma, that stupid hobag started it. She made fun of my nose and clothes. I’ve had it up to here—” I slide a finger across my neck. “—with her mean butt.”

  “When you let her words push you to act out, you’re no better than she is.”

  “I know.” This conversation has played out so often over the past couple of years. Too often, and now I wish I would’ve at least tried to control myself. I hate disappointing her.

  “This is getting ridiculous, Tilly. You’re not a child, yet you’re still acting like one.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I’m not perfect and should be the better person, that I’m not like you and Daddy.” I give a quick, angry stir to the sauce. “I guess I should let people walk all over me and be more like Sissy.” My voice rises on the last sentence. I draw a deep breath and snap my mouth shut.

  “Your sister picks her battles.” She lowers her tone. “You’re eighteen years old, Tilly.” Stretching a hand, she squeezes my shoulder. “And no, your daddy and I aren’t perfect, and we don’t expect you to be, either. I just want you to think before you act. When you go to college, you can’t hit people because you don’t like something they said. Violence doesn’t solve anything.”

  Oh yeah? Well, it sure felt good. Until I’d realized I could’ve really hurt her. No, I wouldn’t want that on my conscience. Though I hate to admit it, Mamma’s right. I’m not a kid any longer, and I really need to learn to control my reactions.

  “Okay. I promise I’ll try to not act like a heathen the next time she goads me.” I dump the pasta into a bowl. “So, lay it on me—what’s my punishment?”

  Her eyes soften, and her full lips curve in a gentle smile. “Well, since you’re officially an adult and about to leave the nest, I think I’ll leave that up to you.”

  “What?” I stumble on the way to the table.

  A quick glance to the food lying on its surface and she chuckles. “The only people getting punished tonight are the gluttons who eat that meal.”

  “Mamma.” My face scrunches and I clench my fists. “I worked hard on this.”

  “I can tell.” She twists away. “The noodles actually look soft this time.” The door to her and Daddy’s bedroom closes with a soft click.

  “No one appreciates my efforts around here,” I grumble, grabbing dinner plates and laying them on the table.

  The scent of char permeates the air, and the smoke alarm begins anew in high, piercing screams.

  “Oh, Jesus. I forgot about the cake.”

  Chapter Four

  “Oh no you don’t,” I yell at the television while tapping buttons on an Xbox controller.

  My computer-generated avatar, dressed in skin-tight brown leathers, circles a humongous, scarlet-scaled dragon. A quick swipe of his taloned foot, and he grabs my character around her waist.

  I jam the buttons, pressing the combo that should allow her to escape, except she’s out of stamina.

  With a cruel laugh, the dragon opens his toothy mouth and snaps off her head, blood gushing from the stump of her neck.

  “Damn it.” I chunk the controller to the floor and glower at the TV. “You stupid piece of sh—”

  “Matilda Morgan,” Mamma’s voice is loud even through the closed bedroom door. “Watch that mouth.”

  With a glare in her general direction, I clench my jaw and check my phone, using this unfortunate turn of events as a breather.

  One unread message flashes across the screen and I unlock the device.

  Sissy: What’s up, little terror?

  Me: Nothing. Same boring town, same boring life.

  Sissy: Mamma said you beat someone up today…

  Me: I did NOT beat someone up. My backpack connected with her head, that’s all.

  Sissy: Hmm. Did it sprout wings and hit her all by itself?

  Me: Damn straight.

  Sissy: Lol. You’re a mess.

  Me: Do you think my nose is long?

  Sissy: WTF?

  Me: Emory said I should get plastic surgery.

  Sissy: …

  Me: Is that a yes or a no?

  Sissy: You should’ve punched HER nose. What a witch. There’s nothing wrong with your face. Now, as for your mouth… it could definitely use some kind of help.

  I smile. I really do love my big sister.

  Me: Hey, I can’t help the fact Daddy rubbed off on me.

  Sissy: Haha. I love you. You’re perfect just the way you are. Don’t ever change. I can’t wait to see you. Mark and I fixed up the guest room for when you get here. It’ll be like old times.

  Me: Yeah, minus the assholes from this shitty place. And I’ll be able to look out at the ocean instead of dried cow patties and ugly mesquite trees. Yay.

  Sissy: Yeah, I don’t miss that or everyone else knowing my business. Hang in there and try not to get into any more trouble, or you’re going to give Mamma an ulcer. Seriously. Love ya bunches, little terror.

  Me: Kiss my...

  Me: And I love you, too.

  I toss the phone onto the bed, bend to the floor, and snatch up the controller. Stretching my legs so my feet dangle over the side, I reload the game from its last save point.

  A few more weeks—that’s not long, right? Pushing in my wireless earbuds, I let A Perfect Circle’s “So Long and Thanks for All the Fish” drown out the world.

  My avatar crouches, her sword in one hand and a spell book in the other.

  “Come on, you nasty-ass lizard,” I whisper, hoping Mamma’s super hearing doesn’t pick up the words. With a gentle nudge, I circle from around a large boulder.

  My character crab-walks closer to the huge, curled dragon.

  His pixelated nostrils quiver, but his eyelids remain closed, little puffs of smoke oozing from his nose.

  Just gotta get close enough to chop off his ugly head and the Magical Ring of Fire will be all mine. Well, my avatar’s.

  Two more steps and my leather-and-metal clad warrior slams her long sword against his thick skin.

  He lets out a roar and tries to flick her away with a thick, barbed tail, but she’s too fast. Jumping back, she blasts him with a blue wave of ice, freezing him for a few seconds.

  One more stroke, and her sword delivers the killing blow.

  With a final cry, his snout crashes to the ground and I loot the epic ring from his body.

  “Yes, yes, yes.” Dropping the controller to my bed, I jump off the mattress, tear out my earbuds, and scream with triumph. “Finally, I beat you, Fire Dragon of the South Wind.” I wiggle my butt in a victory dance and pump a fist into the air. “Who’s the loser now, huh?”

  A strange groan rumbles through the walls. The lights flicker, then cut off, leaving me in complete blackness.

  “No, no, no.” I stumble in the direction of my Xbox, but something on the floor trips me, nearly sending me crashing into the darkness. “I haven’t saved yet.” The words sound like a wail because they are.

  Fingers fumbling, I reach for the TV stand and rise. Oh my God. I’m
going to have to fight that dragon again because, like an idiot, I didn’t save after the battle.

  My door squeaks open, but I see nothing. It’s nighttime, and not even the streetlights show through the windows to give a smidgeon of light to maneuver. “You okay, honey?” Mamma’s soft voice soothes my rage a bit.

  “Yeah. No.” I blindly reach for the bed, patting it until the cold edge of my phone presses into my fingertips. At least I can use it for a flashlight. “I didn’t save my game after I beat the boss.” Breathing deeply, I try to remember it’s only a game—not real. But still… “Did you forget to pay the electric bill?” There’s accusation in my words. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s forgotten to pay a bill. Sometimes, she gets so busy things slip her mind.

  Crack.

  Under my foot, the crunch of hard plastic grates against the sole of my tennis shoe. “Oh man, I think I broke one of Daddy’s CDs.” And it was probably the Korn disc he let me borrow last week. Even though I can stream or download practically any music in the world, I love the old-school ways. They remind me of simpler times, when things were less complicated by the internet, streaming services, and algorithms trying to guess what type of music I enjoy. Not that I ever experienced those old times, but hearing Daddy talk about them, I can almost imagine living in that era.

  “No, I paid it early. I’m not sure why the power’s out.” Tap-tap-tap. Her fingernails drum on the door. “Maybe a transformer blew.”

  “Yeah, I heard a strange noise right before it went out.”

  With careful steps to keep from breaking my neck, I feel my way through clothes, trash, and shoes scattered at my feet. I’ve been meaning to clean it up, but there just never seems to be enough time between gaming, reading, and homework.

  When I make it to the door, her warm hand lands on my shoulder. “Well, come on. We’ll light some candles and make a night of it, huh? You’re always either lost in a video game or have your nose stuck in a book. Tonight… we’ll make it a board game night around candlelight.”

  I groan. “I’d rather stab my eyes out.”

  “So dramatic.” Mamma laughs. “I know it’s a terrible thing to have to spend time with your parents, but humor an old woman, would you?”

  “You’re not old, Mamma.”

  “Sometimes my bones feel every bit of their forty years, but thank you.” Even though I can’t see it, I know she’s smiling.

  Holding on to each other, she and I stumble our way to the kitchen. She digs in the junk drawer for the emergency candles, and I pilfer the spare lighter Daddy keeps in the key bowl.

  After lighting three pillars, she places them on the table, the wicks casting a cheery glow around the small dining room, revealing fresh herbs growing on a windowsill and the old-fashioned wood stove sitting farther away in a corner.

  The front door opens, and Daddy’s boots tromp inside. “The whole block’s dead.” Moving closer, the yellow-orange lighting softens his face, making him look closer to thirty instead of forty-five.

  Mamma threads her way through the darkened dining room to meet him halfway across the floor.

  He wraps her in his arms and places a soft, familiar kiss on her lips.

  “Ew. Get a room.” I avert my eyes. Ugh. Seriously. Who wants to see their parents practically making out right in front of them? “If y’all are gonna do that sh—” My throat clears. “—that stuff through game night, I’ll pass. Thanks.”

  Daddy gives Mamma a lopsided grin and she snorts.

  “Hurling over here, seriously.”

  “We don’t want her throwing up on the new rug, do we?” He lets her go with a quick peck to her forehead.

  “Absolutely not.” Mamma pats his cheek, her fingers trailing his beard. “Because you know how she cleans…”

  “Hey—”

  “Yeah.” His gaze flickers to me with amusement. “Half-assed.”

  I give him a stern glare.

  Daddy steps closer. “You got your phone, Half-pint?”

  “That’s a dumb question to ask.” With a quick jerk, I flip it toward him.

  He pulls his out. “Sarah, get yours out, too.”

  Mamma does as he asks. “What’s this about?”

  “Just checking something.”

  My screen stays blank, even though with the movement, it should be activating. “Hey, I think my battery ran down.” Which is odd. It was nearly full when Sissy and I were texting.

  Tapping her screen, Mamma glances toward me. “Mine, too.”

  Daddy holds his up. It’s as dark as the other two.

  “What does it mean?” I can’t stop a little thread of fear from curling around my chest like a noose. Something about three phones dying at the same time as the power goes out is unsettling.

  “Not sure yet.” He pockets his and scratches his short blond hair. “But I have an idea.” With a quick twist, he strides to the front door and steps out into the yard.

  Mamma and I look at each other. Her eyes, widening a bit, reveal bright green irises even in the low light.

  I shrug, and she and I follow him outside.

  The moon is half-full, and luckily it’s not cloudy, so there’s enough light to see the ghostly shrubs next to the chain-link fence and gate.

  Daddy opens the latch with a small squeal, straddles his large Harley, and turns the key. A solemn click fills the quiet, but the motor doesn’t roar to life like usual.

  I squeeze closer to Mamma. “What does that mean, you think?” You know what it means, Tilly, a little voice whispers in my head. I shove it away, not wanting to hear its explanation.

  “I don’t know.” She chews on a fingernail.

  From behind us, our neighbor—Mr. Miller—clears his throat. “Something ain’t right, Ricky.” He’s an older gentleman with a wispy ring of white hair crowning his bald dome, and crooked yellow teeth poke through his smile. I’ve known him since I was born, and he’s always kind, even if a little nosey.

  “I take it you’re running into the same problem?” Daddy leans back on the seat and shakes his head, eyebrows scrunching together.

  “Yep.” Mr. Miller ambles through his yard to walk around our fence, his step spry despite his seventy-five years. “Ain’t nothing working in my house—even the stuff that uses batteries. Every flashlight deader than a dead dog’s nose. My phone, too.” He pulls out a silver flip phone for all of us to see, the numbers large enough they dominate the entire thing.

  He also uses weird expressions. How can something be deader than dead? I swallow a nervous giggle, glad for the comic relief, even if it’s temporary.

  “Well,” I grin at Mr. Miller, “your phone’s not working because it’s from the nineties.”

  Mamma thumps my upper arm. “Be nice,” she whispers under her breath.

  “Little Tilly.” Now only a few feet away, he gives me a wide smile, revealing his crooked teeth. “Always compensating for your size with your mouth.” He shuffles over to Daddy.

  Wait. Did he insult me? I play his words over in my mind. “I think he just said I have a big mouth.”

  “Hmm.” A tiny grin tugs at Mamma’s lips and she pats me on the arm. “You did insult his phone, so it was deserved.”

  “That old man better be glad I like him.” I gnaw on the inside of my bottom lip, watching his hunched form move toward Daddy to tinker with the motorcycle.

  They speak in low voices, as if trying to keep us—the womenfolk—from hearing whatever it is they think is so important. Daddy gestures toward the light poles, then to the other houses.

  Mr. Miller, the moonlight glinting off the few white hairs he has left, nods his head.

  Daddy lifts a leg and steps off his bike. “Sarah, Tilly, why don’t you two go in the house and lock the doors?” Even though his tone is even, there’s an undercurrent of something in it. Not exactly fear, but a wariness.

  “Why?” I close the gap and stare up into his face.

  “Because there’s no power, no cell service, and no explanat
ion, which means we don’t have a way to call the police if something were to happen.” His lips thin, and his gaze hardens. “Do you understand?”

  “What’s going to happen?” I sweep a hand toward the other houses on the street. “Besides someone’s cow or horse getting loose and eating our garden?” A snort sneaks out of me.

  Mamma’s rubs her upper arm. “She’s right, Ricky. This is Callahan—everyone’s known each other for years. We protect our own.”

  Daddy scrubs a hand across his face and lets out a low sigh. The raspy sound of his whiskers competes with the chorus of crickets chirping nearby. He gives Mr. Miller a look that says “women, what do you expect?” then takes me by the shoulder and Mamma by the arm, practically dragging us up the front steps and onto the porch.

  “Look, I’m hoping I’m wrong, but I’m afraid I’m not.”

  Daddy, afraid? He’s not frightened of anything I know of. He flew and fought in deployments overseas and survived several close combat encounters. Unease settles in my bones. He’s the bravest person I know. If he’s scared…

  “This may be more than a mere power issue.” He legs go and puts an arm across my shoulder and another across Mamma’s, hugging us tightly. “It might be part of a terrorist attack. And if it is, I want you inside where it’s safe.”

  “What?” Mamma shoves her body closer into his, like a baby bird seeking comfort under a wing. Her eyes scour his face. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” He places a kiss to her forehead, then gives me a one-armed squeeze. “It doesn’t make sense they’d attack such a small town, though, so I’m hoping it’s something more along the lines of an accident or something natural.” With a deep breath, he glances over his shoulder, as if looking for hidden baddies in the bushes. “But just in case, I want to talk with everyone in the neighborhood, make sure they’re okay, and verify the rest of the town’s in no danger.”

  “Okay.” She wraps her fingers around the side of his neck. “I understand. Do you have your gun?” Her stare moves to his waist.

  He gives her a sheepish smile. “You know I do.”

  “Well, this is one time I won’t lecture you about it.” She gives him a quick nod and opens the door. “Come on, Tilly. Your father’s right.”