by Jerry Hart
Suddenly a muffled explosion occurred from behind him. Owen covered his head as water rained down on him. A moment later he stood up and looked to where the school of dogfish had been. He quickly counted sixteen of them; all were floating in the water, dead.
The big daddy, on the other hand, was alive and well in the pond and was now moving at an alarming speed toward Owen. He reached into his pocket to grab another Buster, but the king jumped on him and he dropped the bomb, having not activated it yet.
The horrible creature was on top of Owen now, trying to bite his face off. He held it back as best he could but the dogfish was heavy and strong; the slippery, wet fur on the creature’s body made it difficult for him to get a good hold. The monster’s horrible breath made him dizzy and nauseated.
Feeling two flapping fins on both sides of the creature’s body, Owen grabbed them and pulled the dogfish off of him, throwing it to the side.
There was only one thing he could think to do: He pulled his hoodie off and slapped it carefully against a nearby rock. He heard the reassuring sound of the tiny bombs all being activated at once. The big-daddy dogfish lunged at Owen again. He jumped to the side, holding the hoodie in front of the leaping monster. It gobbled the hoodie down in one bite. Owen knew running would be difficult on the slippery rocks, so he dove into the pond where the water was deeper.
He felt the explosion before he heard it. The concussive wave swept against his back, pushing him deeper into the water until he hit his head on the rocky floor. He quickly rose back to the surface, gasping.
It took him a moment to catch his breath, but when he did, he saw that the big daddy was no more. There were pieces of its body floating in the water, its blood turning the clear water black. What remained of Owen’s hoodie also floated on the surface. He looked up and saw the boy still standing there. He stood at the edge of the pond, mouth agape. Owen could tell now the boy couldn’t be any older than ten. He had on a black shirt with a rock band’s logo—one Owen didn’t recognize—and tattered jeans. His blond hair was made up into a fauxhawk.
“Why did you kill them?” the boy asked.
Owen wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. He stared at the boy for a moment, and then said, “They were attacking you. They would have eaten you if I hadn’t stopped them.”
“Nuh-uh! They were just playing with me.”
“It didn’t look like it to me, not from where I was standing,” said Owen, and then he asked the question he’d wanted to ask as soon as the boy first appeared at the edge of the pond, feeding the creatures. “Were you keeping them as pets?”
“No,” the boy said, his voice high with shock. “Well, maybe. I just found them a few months ago. I live over in those apartments.” He pointed to the apartments Owen had passed while walking with Bentley. “My friends and I feed … fed them a few times. There were two big ones—a mom and dad—but the mom died. I buried her.”
The boy appeared to be on the verge of tears, but was hiding them as best as he could. Owen felt awkward at the moment; he was still standing in the pond as well. He stepped on to the pebbled edge with the boy.
“I’m sorry,” said Owen. “It’s just … I kill monsters—it’s kind of my thing—and I thought they were monsters. And it looked like you were in trouble.”
“Well, I wasn’t. You should’ve minded your own business, mister,” the boy said, the tears flowing now as he turned and ran back to his apartment, which was barely visible from where Owen stood. “You’re the monster, and I hope someone kills you!” the boy yelled from the darkness.
That struck Owen as a little harsh, but he said nothing in return. There was nothing to say. Suddenly he heard movement behind him. He turned quickly and saw a single dogfish standing on a boulder on the other side of the pond. It stared at him—it was a familiar stare. It was Bentley, Owen was sure of it. Bentley continued to stare for a moment or two, and then dove off the boulder and swam away.
* * *
Owen walked into the condo half an hour later. He was cold and still a little wet. He was also very tired. He took a quick shower, changed into warm, dry clothes (he already missed his hoodie), plopped down on his comfortable bed and turned on his TV. Nothing good seemed to be on. He flipped through the channels, hardly taking in what was actually on any of them.
The events that occurred tonight had brought to the surface his doubts about what he and his friends did with their lives. Owen had killed a whole family of what he thought were dangerous creatures. As it turned out, though, they were a little boy’s harmless pets. Thinking back to the dream he had at the game, he remembered the furry creature being pretty harmless until Owen had held the orb up to it. Then he’d ordered it to kill the other creature. Sure, it had only been a dream, but most of his dreams lately all had something in common: the orb. He knew better than to take these dreams lightly. What was this orb? Why did he keep dreaming about it?
He didn’t worry too much about the things he had killed so far—the five vampire-like creatures—but what about the strange things he was more than likely to encounter in the future? Should he and the others even be doing what they did? How could one classify a monster anyway? He had misjudged the dogfish greatly. At that moment, Owen felt like a murderer instead of a monster slayer.
He continued flipping through the channels, his eyelids growing heavy.
Before he knew it, he was asleep and dreaming. He knew it was a dream because he was walking along a highway. The highway, however, was made entirely of shimmering gold light. There were gaps here and there where nothing but black void lay. Owen feared stepping on those gaps, feared he would fall into the nothingness beyond.
He didn’t know where he was walking to or why, but he kept doing it anyway. This trek was familiar to him, despite the odd location. He looked up to the sky and saw a large black orb where the moon—or sun—should be. It was extremely unsettling.
As he continued his mysterious journey, he saw something slowly materialize in front of him. It was a man-sized shadow, and it merely stood there. Owen didn’t know whether to walk through it or around. He thought he saw red hair on its head—the only other source of color in this world besides Owen’s clothes.
“This place is crazy, huh?” the figure asked.
Owen jumped in surprise. “Yes. I’ve never dreamed of this place before.”
“Oh, this isn’t a dream.”
That caught Owen short as he stopped in front of the figure. “What do you mean?”
“I’m real; I reached out my mind to you.”
“How is that possible?”
“We share a link, you and I.” The figure sounded like a young man.
“Who are you?”
The figure shook its head. “That’s not important right now.”
“I think it is. You just said we share a link, and you’re real, and this isn’t a dream. I don’t even know what you look like.”
“I don’t know what you look like either,” the figure replied playfully. “You’re just appearing to me as a shadow with blondish hair.”
“Why can’t we see each other?” Owen asked.
“Because the link isn’t strong enough, I’m guessing. This is the first time I’ve done this.”
“But why are you doing this?”
The figure sighed. “Because I need to ask you for a favor. But first, do you ever dream about an orb?”
Owen stared in wide-eyed wonder. “Yes. Do you know what it is?”
“Not only that, but I have it with me now.”
Owen looked for it.
“I don’t mean with me in this place. I have it with my real body.”
“How did you get it? What is it?”
“As to how I got it, let’s just say I inherited it. As for what it does, I can only say it was built to bring peace on Earth.”
Owen thought back to the dream he’d had at the softball game. He’d used it to make one creature kill another. How was that peaceful? “Why are you here now?” he found
himself asking.
“Because, and I’m embarrassed to admit this, I don’t know how to turn on the damn thing.”
Owen laughed. “How is that possible?”
The figure laughed too. “Beats me. The thing is, I think you do know how to turn it on. I need your help.”
Owen grew suspicious. “What did you say your name was again?”
“I didn’t, but you can call me Michael.”
“Well, Michael, I’m not used to strangers walking up to me and demanding strange things.”
“I see. You want something in return.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Owen said quickly.
“No, I know. But I think it will encourage you to help me. What do you want?”
Owen didn’t want to take this seriously, but he couldn’t help but think about the night his father died, and of all the strange things that happened after. He thought about the creatures plaguing San Sebastian, about his own mysterious strength. He wanted explanations for all of it.
But only one question came to mind.
“What is the orb?”
There was no doubt to what he was really asking the stranger. He wanted to know everything about it, and he knew the figure was leaving something out, something crucial.
“I already told you,” Michael replied heatedly.
“Why do I feel you’re holding out on me?”
“Because you have trust issues. I understand.” Michael took on a joking, easy tone now. “Isn’t there anything else you’ve always wanted to know?”
“What, are you the information genie or something? You can just pluck anything out of thin air and tell me?” Owen was fed up with this.
Michael stood there for a moment, motionless. Owen knew he’d angered him with his skepticism. Finally, the stranger asked, “You don’t want world peace?”
“Not without all the information. I’m not trusting it to some stranger who is holding out on me.”
“You don’t want to know what happened to your mother?”
Owen gasped. He had been thinking about her but chose not to say anything. How did Michael know?
“I’m disappointed.” Michael took a step forward, reaching out with a shadowy arm.
And then Owen woke up.
He was still in bed, his TV on. His heart was racing for some reason. He had dreamed about something but couldn’t remember what. He started flipping through the channels to slow his heart when something caught his eye on one of them. He flipped back to the channel. It was the news. A beautiful dark-haired reporter named Pamela Johnson was speaking but Owen couldn’t hear her; the volume was turned down. But he probably wouldn’t have heard anything she was saying anyway. His heart was beating too loudly because the picture of Eric himself, superimposed next to the reporter, had his attention. He quickly regained his senses and turned up the volume.
“…body of Eric Spencer was found yesterday by a local woman in a wooded area in San Sebastian. Cause of death has not yet been released, but police confirm the young man died over two weeks ago…”
Owen jumped out of bed and was out the door in a flash. He had to get the others together to share this news. Two weeks? They had just fought Eric last night. But there was no mistaking what Owen saw with his own eyes on the news: Eric’s dead body, two weeks deceased, had been found in San Sebastian.
That meant whoever—whatever—they had been tracking this whole time wasn’t the real Eric. A shiver ran through Owen’s body as he ran out the front door.
What did this mean for Chris?
Owen tried calling him several times, but got no answer. Since he had no idea where Chris was, he decided to go for Daniel and Alyssa first.
CHAPTER 13
Owen walked into the house, seeing the huge assortment of people. The music was overwhelmingly loud. He couldn’t believe this place wasn’t crawling with cops yet. He searched the living room. With all the people there, it would be hard to find Alyssa and Daniel. A big crowd had formed at one side of the living room, though, so Owen made his way toward it to see what was going on.
* * *
Michael felt it instantly: a tingly sensation he could not ignore. He looked feverishly around the living room from where he stood in the kitchen. There was no telling the source of his sudden alertness—there were too many people around.
There was a big crowd in front of the fireplace. Michael felt some force drawing his attention in that direction, so he headed toward the crowd. He had felt something similar when he’d tried contacting the other half of his consciousness; the beer had relaxed his mind enough to attempt it. He had been unsuccessful in convincing the boy to help him. But at least he had made contact. That was a start, even though it had ended in failure.
But now the boy was here in the real world. Michael could feel him in this very room. Now all he had to do was seize him and take him to Jason. Michael’s big brother would know what to do.
* * *
Alyssa saw from the back porch that people were crowding around something in front of the fireplace.
“Looks like trouble,” she told David.
“Damn it all to hell!” David shouted.
He and Alyssa headed inside. As they pushed their way through the people, Alyssa’s heart started to race suddenly—she had completely forgotten about Daniel. She’d left him alone with a seemingly endless amount of alcohol. She knew even before she reached the center of the crowd something had happened to him.
And sure enough there was Daniel, passed out on the floor with everyone staring down at him. Alyssa’s heart leapt, though, when she saw Owen kneeling beside him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him.
“We’re in some serious trouble,” he said, picking Daniel up.
* * *
With Daniel in his arms, Owen turned toward the front door, assuming Alyssa was going to follow. As soon as he took a step, though, he felt a strange sensation wash over him. He felt as if someone were watching him—no, not just watching, but drawing him in somehow.
He looked around suddenly but saw just about everyone staring at him. There were two stupid-looking blondes laughing at him, hiding their faces behind their hands. There were a couple of jocks puckering their lips at Owen, as if to imply he and Daniel were lovers, no doubt.
Then there was a skinny, pale red-haired guy, but he was not making any funny faces. In fact, his expression was intense, his eyes wide and alive, like he’d just seen something truly amazing. Well, it was a funny face, but not in the same vein as the jocks.
Red hair. That struck something within Owen, but he didn’t know why. He quickened his pace, hoping Alyssa would keep up.
* * *
There was no doubt in Michael’s mind he had found who he was looking for: the blonde carrying Daniel, the under-aged drunk who built robots.
Michael took a step toward the retreating figures when a hand grabbed his arm. The hand held firmly, spinning him around. There stood David Hernandez.
“What the hell are you doing here?” David asked him. “I didn’t invite you.”
Michael turned back to the one who had carried Daniel away and did not see him anymore. He was gone! Michael ran to the front door and looked out onto the front lawn. There were a bunch of people standing around, drinking. There were also many cars. Michael couldn’t see or sense the one he’d been looking for anymore, though the boy had just been a few feet away, just within his grasp.
He had been right there!
With a fury Michael wasn’t aware he possessed, he turned, grabbed David by his left arm and lifted him off the ground. No one noticed David, the host of the party, being carried away into the garage by someone who didn’t look the least bit capable of such a feat.
* * *
David was sweating profusely when he woke up moments ago. He wanted very much to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but he couldn’t because his hands were tied behind his back. He glanced repeatedly from Les to Michael, who were standing in fr
ont of him.
He didn’t understand what was going on and he could barely remember how he wound up tied to a chair. He remembered most of the party and talking to Alyssa. Everything after that was a blur.
He looked around, noticing they were in a garage—probably his own—and that he was tied to a lawn chair. The sound of music could be heard. David had no idea what time it was, but he was pretty sure the party was still going on inside the house. He felt groggy, and the back of his head hurt.
He saw Michael sliding a foldout table in front of him. He also drew up a chair and sat down on the other side of the table, across from David.
“What are you doing?” David asked.
Michael didn’t answer. David looked to Les, hoping for some kind of response. He got none. Now Michael was placing a knife on the table; a huge knife, unlike any David had ever seen in his life. He assumed it was a hunting knife.
“Come on, dude,” said David. “Just tell me what you want.”
Michael fixed his blue eyes upon him. “Earlier, I saw someone I’ve been looking for. And then, I lost him … because of you.”
“Well, I’m sorry. Seriously, I am. What can I do to make it up to you?” David asked, looking again at the knife on the table.
“You can tell me who that blond guy was at the party.”
“Which one? There were a lot of blond guys.”
“The one who’s friends with … Daniel.”
David thought for a moment and then said, “Owen?”
“Is that his name?”
“Yeah. I don’t know anything about him.”
David, in fact, knew quite a bit about Owen. He knew he was different from everyone else. Alyssa had told David a few stories. However, he felt sharing those with Michael might not be a good idea.
“He’s just an ordinary guy, for all I know,” David added.
The next thing happened in the blink of an eye. David saw Michael pick the knife up; he saw a flash of light pass his face; he saw Michael put the knife back down. It had something red on it, now. It looked like … blood.
