Otherworld (19 page)

“What's going on?” he cried.

The bed shook more violently, popping him up and down convulsively on the mattress. He thought his bones would snap at any moment, and his heart began to beat like a bass drum in his chest so hard he thought it might explode.

I'm going to have a heart attack!

He clung desperately to the mattress, not wanting to fly off. Gradually, in fragments, his sight returned. He could see only outlines of objects in the room—the rectangle of the dresser, the sloping back of the chair …

… the small form of a person at the foot of the bed.

His aged and hardened heart tightened in his chest.

“Who are you?”

“Exactly what you wanted,” came the voice.

Burning light still filled the room, and Pops could not discern any of the figure's features, but he thought the visitor was smiling. He didn't have to lie about aliens anymore.

The show must go on.

 

“Just what are you doing to find the monster that did this?”

Carlos Diaz's angry words had haunted Graham throughout the night. The man had a right to be angry. Someone had attacked his daughter, and Graham considered it a miracle that she'd escaped relatively unhurt. Whoever saved her could not be found, and no one had any explanation why. In the child's words,
the
bad man
arrived, then
the
good man
arrived, and then
the good man
took
the bad man
away.

Why, then, wouldn't the good man be hanging around?
he thought.
Why isn't he basking in the adulation? Why isn't he looking for a pat on the back? Or reward money? Or his name in the paper?

The answers to these questions eluded him, and he felt much like the girl's father, angry and helpless at the same time. Furious, both by what had happened to her and by the ease at which her attacker had escaped them. Graham expected Trumbull's new UFO aficionados would suspect an attempted alien abduction.

The girl did not have much of a description to offer. She hadn't seen her attacker, only felt him. And she had not seen her rescuer either, only knew that he took
the bad man
away. Graham assured Mr. Diaz that the police were doing the best they could. He told him that they would keep looking.

And they did.

Three hours later, with dawn approaching, Graham stopped in a fast-food restaurant for an early-morning coffee. He sat down, removed his gloves, and sipped his cup contemplatively, knowing full well that the caffeine would aggravate his headaches.

“Captain Lattimer?”

Graham looked over. Lewis Driscoll sat in a booth across the aisle.

“How ya doin'?” Graham asked.

“Not bad. Care for some company?”

“Sure,” Graham said.

The veterinarian picked up his biscuit in its wax-paper wrapper and shuffled over to Graham's booth.

“Can you believe this cold?” Lewis asked.

“Pretty strange, huh?”

“Yeah. Folks out here aren't so used to all this cold weather for so long. Has something to do with one heck of an El Niño out there in the middle of the ocean, or so I've been told. Places all over the world are experiencing their fiercest winters in years. Decades, even.”

“I thought El Niño made warm winters,” Graham said.

“Oh. Yeah, maybe so,” Lewis said.

Graham took several more sips of his coffee.

“You look like you been up awhile,” Lewis said.

“Yep. A little girl was attacked last night.”

“Jeez. What happened?”

“Don't know. Didn't find so much as a footprint.”

“Hope you don't mind my asking, but how's it coming on the other incident?”

Graham knew exactly what Lewis was talking about. “Haven't found
him
either,” he said.

“Maybe you're looking in the wrong place.”

“Aw, sheesh. You gonna start with that alien business again? You shoulda seen that second scene, Doc. Woulda blown your whole theory to bits.”

“Oh, I'm sure the second killing wasn't the work of the first killer.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I've seen the news stories, seen the pictures. They were two entirely different incidents. Anybody with half a brain could figure that out.”

Graham raised an eyebrow.

“You think I'm crazy, don't you?” Lewis asked. “You think I'm one of those nuts out there like Pops.”

“No. I don't think that. Petrie told me how you walked out of the press conference. How you said it was setting back serious research, or something like that.”

“Yes—”

“But still. UFOs? Little green men? I'm sorry, Doc, but I just have a hard time believing in all that.”

“Have you ever seen a UFO, Captain?”

“Have you?”

“Well, no, but—”

“And yet you're so darn sure they're flying around all over the place.”

“Captain, have you ever seen God?”

Graham hesitated. “No.”

“But you believe in Him, don't you?”

“That's a different subject altogether. Apples and oranges.”

“Not really. You've never seen God, but you know He's out there. Well, I've never seen a extraterrestrial, but I know they're out there.”

“No. I know God's out there because I've heard Him. I've felt Him. Because there's evidence all around us that He's out there.”

“And what do you call Pops's dead cow?”

“Just a dead cow. That's what I call it.”

“Okay, okay. Don't mean to get you riled.”

Graham took another sip. “Sorry. Just a little wound up, that's all.”

“No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to … Well, I'm sorry. I believe in God. I just happen to believe in UFOs. I believe they're visiting us all the time. I think they want us to know they're out there. I think they want to make contact.”

“Well, why haven't they come on down, then? Why haven't they come on down and had a little chat with the president?”

“How do you know they haven't?”

“Sheesh.” Graham rolled his eyes. “And what exactly do you think they'd like to tell us?”

“I don't know. Maybe they can teach us more about God. More than we can ever hope to know.”

“Right. That's why they come down here and suck the blood out of farm animals.”

A thin smirk spread across Lewis's face. “Touché,” he said.

“Look, Doc—you seem to be a pretty smart guy. I can't say I buy your theories here or anything, but you seem to be pretty smart. If you want to believe aliens killed that old man's cow, that's fine with me. I just see what that kind of thinking is doing to this town. It's making everybody crazy.”

“Captain, I agree things have gotten out of hand, but think about it. The town of Trumbull could be known throughout history. This could be one of the most important events mankind could encounter. Trumbull could have an important place in time along with Roswell, New Mexico.”

“Roswell,” Graham said. He knew about Roswell. Supposedly, a flying saucer had crashed in the desert there in 1947. Now they had UFO conventions. UFO parades. UFO museums. “Doc, that's exactly what I'm afraid of.”

 

The Trumbull Police Department bustled with activity. Melody, the mother of Elizabeth, rested in a chair in one of the offices, answering the questions of two officers who weren't exactly sure what to ask. Daryl Worth sat in another office and talked to Sam Petrie. A laptop on the table played back footage from the Dart 'n Shop's surveillance video. They reviewed the whole incident over and over. Daryl looks in the kid's wallet. The kid takes the wallet. The kid pulls out a butterfly knife. Daryl gives the kid the money. The kid tries to cut Daryl's throat. Daryl falls down. The kid runs out.

To Daryl, the entire encounter seemed to take a fraction of the time on video than it had in real life, and he was already imagining what it would have been like to catch that kid's arm mid-swing and pop him one across the jaw.
Yeah! Just like Jason Bourne, man.
He wanted to interrupt that wide, deadly arc with a lightning-quick reflex action and do some real Jason Bourne karate-type stuff, and then maybe pull a few Liam Neesons on that kid, or maybe a few Vin Diesels.
Yeah, that would've been cool, all right.

“Never seen this guy before?” Petrie asked.

“Naw,” Daryl said. His arms still shook a little bit, and sweat still cascaded down his forehead. He couldn't remember Jason Bourne ever being this scared.

 

Graham arrived and noticed Petrie in an office across from his own, watching television with a young guy who wore what looked like a grocer's vest.

“What's goin' on?” Graham asked Kelly.

“Kid got held up.”

“Get me some aspirin, please.” He stepped into the office. “What's up, Sam?”

“This is Daryl Worth, sir. He works over at the Dart 'n Shop convenience store. Kid robbed the store last night and tried to take ol' Daryl here out with a butterfly knife. We're watchin' the store video right now.”

Graham sat down and watched the scene play out with them.

“Scary lookin' kid,” Graham said.

“Yes, sir, he sure was,” Daryl said.

“All dressed in black,” Graham said. “Thinks he's Johnny Cash or something. Never seen him before?”

“Naw.”

Petrie said, “He may not be from Trumbull, Cap. I've checked our recent juvenile mugs, and we ain't had him before. He might be from Houston.”

“Have a copy of this video sent to the Harris County Sheriff's Department and HPD. They'll probably sit on it, but you're more than likely right. If he's got a record, it's with them.”

Graham stood and turned to leave, but he turned back and looked at the TV screen.

Petrie said, “Sir?”

“Sam, how far is this store from our other crime scene last night?”

“Pretty close, Cap.”

“That so?” Graham sat down again. “Look at the kid's clothes. Torn. Dirty. Lookit right there.” He put his finger on the screen where the kid's elbow hovered. “What's that?”

“Looks like a leaf.”

“You dang right that's a leaf. Looks like Johnny Cash here's been rolling around in the woods or somethin'. Looks like he got roughed up a little.”

“Man, we even had a patrol car drive by the area of the store last night when we were looking for the assault suspect. We musta just missed him. He musta wandered in there after we left.”

“Petrie, we catch this kid, and maybe we kill two birds with one stone,” Graham said. He smiled, and then the smile vanished. His eyes widened. “Pause it!”

Petrie did.

“What's that right there?” Graham placed his finger on the kid's forearm.

“Looks like a tattoo,” Petrie said.

“I don't believe it,” the captain said.

“What?”