Misplaced Trilogy

by Brian Bennett

  "I think you two got yourselves wrapped up in some trouble. Maybe you can clarify a few things for me?"

  "Uh . . . sure," Trey stammered.

  The burly man tugged at his short, light colored beard. "When Mrs. Taylor told me about a couple men a few days ago, I didn't put much weight into it. Her also telling me she'd been seeing Hershel tinkering around in the barn for a week kind of set off my silly detector."

  Trey kept his poker face.

  "But now we have two blood spots and two empty shell casings. There's nothing silly about that."

  Trey and Zach both nodded in agreement.

  "But the strange thing is, we only have one victim and my only eye witness isn't talking."

  He dropped the casual talk. "What the hell happened here, boys?"

  Trey thought fast for how to answer the sheriff. After stalling an uncomfortably long time, he answered, "Well, it's like this . . . Me, Zach, and Amy came out here after school looking for Nigel, the new kid, because he told me he needed our help."

  Zach nodded along, corroborating Trey's words.

  "We hadn't been here long, when these guys in suits showed up. We all hid, but, next thing you know, they nabbed Nigel and tied him up."

  Smead nodded. "Go on."

  "That's when Billy showed up looking for us."

  "And he was mad," the sheriff interjected. "You'd messed with his truck."

  Zach smoothed it over. "Awe, no madder than usual. We're always razzing each other."

  "That's not the way folks saw it when he tore through town spittin fire."

  Trey raised his voice. "Honest to God, Sheriff, I didn't shoot Billy! When he showed up here all pissed off, one of those assholes knocked him over the head with a shovel, and when that didn't stop him, they shot him."

  "Calm down, son. I'm not accusing you of any such thing."

  Trey breathed heavily, trying to calm himself.

  The sheriff took a couple steps back. "What nobody's telling me is who's blood this is." He pointed to the spot where Trey had fallen.

  Trey pondered owning up to the blood, but the impending question loomed; why not go to the hospital?

  Fast on his feet, Zach spoke up with a cover. "It's Nigel's mother's."

  Trey was as shocked as the sheriff and turned to his best friend in amazement.

  "They threw her in the trunk with Nigel," Zach said, embellishing the growing white lie. "We chased after them in Trey's truck, but we lost them, so we drove around all night looking for their car."

  The story seemed to throw the sheriff. He stood motionless, deep in thought for a moment, then crouched and studied the dirt.

  Surprised by Zach's quick wit, Trey shot him a questioning look.

  Zach screwed up his face and shrugged in response.

  The sheriff muttered to himself. "Where's her car?"

  Trey noticed the tire tracks for the first time. He couldn't help being impressed by the small town law man.

  His eyes followed the numerous tire trails all the way to the old John Deere. He compared the huge tractor treads to the thin all-season radial pattern in the dirt. There was no way the marks were a match, but Trey couldn't take his eyes off the old tractor. As he stood staring, he became aware of a strong vibration resonating from it.

  Without knowing how or why, he let his mind synchronize to the high frequency. Slowly, a faint glimpse of a car appeared through a shimmering veil. He fine-tuned the sensation, his thoughts humming to the vibrating tune. The old rusty tractor slowly wriggled out of existence, and in its place sat a lime green Toyota Prius.

  He turned to his friend. Zach was oblivious to the revelation. He nudged him lightly and nodded toward the car.

  Zach looked in its direction. "What?" he whispered.

  The sheriff rose up, facing the shiny vehicle. "Well," he said, "I think we better get you boys home. I imagine your parents are worried sick by now."

  Trey couldn't believe they weren't seeing what stood out so sorely now. "Yeah, we better head home."

  Smead watched the two of them closely until they moved to leave. He followed them out and slid the barn door shut.

  "Hold up, boys," he said. "I'll drive you."

  "Oh, Dad's truck is just over there," said Trey.

  "Yup, I know. It'll be fine there for a while."

  Trey decided the offer was not up for debate and followed along to the cruiser. Even though he was free of handcuffs, climbing into the back seat felt faintly criminal. As he painfully lowered inside, he turned his grimacing face away from the watchful sheriff.

  A few minutes later, they pulled up to his back door.

  "Not you, Zach," the sheriff said, peering through the rearview. "I'll take you on home."

  Zach settled back into his seat.

  Trey pulled himself out with his good arm. "Thanks for the lift."

  Smead lowered his window. "Tell your folks I'll be back by later for a chat."

  Trey was uneasy about the man's tone. "Sure thing."

  "And don't go anywhere."

  Trey made his way to the house while the sheriff watched him from the driveway. He saluted the lawman and closed the back door.

  Immediately, he turned to the refrigerator. The first bite of leftovers settled hard on his empty stomach, but the second beckoned for more.

  After ravaging the fridge, Trey rubbed his full belly and stared at the blank screen on his cell phone. He knew he should let his parents know the man-hunt was off, but he wasn't sure he was ready to face the answers of his origins. He laid the phone on the table and walked away.

  Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he eased off the t-shirt and stared at the bloody patch taped over his shoulder. The dark stain was now encircled by a wide band of fresh blood.

  He let the vibrating tension release and watched his true self appear before his eyes.

  The blood was still red, and that alone was somehow comforting.

  He had never been troubled with acne, but his soft, pale real skin practically glowed with perfection.

  His short spikey hair was unchanged, aside from lightening at least five shades to an unnaturally bleach-blonde hue.

  The deep blue, larger-than-life eyes of a stranger stared back at him. The corners of his thin lips twitched as he forced back a smile. He liked who he saw.

  He modestly covered himself, slipping on the t-shirt and the brown-eyed Trey.

  Out of the washroom he marched, grabbing his phone from the kitchen table on his way to the back door.

  Vibes

  THE LONG WALK to Widow Taylor's was exhausting. Just inside the decrepit barn, Trey slumped to the ground and leaned back against the sliding door.

  He huffed the air violently, trying to recover. As he sat waiting for strength, he saw the old John Deere tractor parked ahead and sighed. Whatever he had done earlier to see behind the curtain, he would have to repeat.

  When his head was no longer light, he filled his mind with the vibrating tone to counter the one emanating from the hidden car. Contrary to his expectation, the tractor faded with little effort.

  He labored to his feet and approached the bright green compact car. It was unlocked, so he opened the door and stuck his head inside for a closer look. A soft dinging noise let him know the keys were in the ignition. He reached in and pulled the key enough to silence the alarm.

  The car was virtually empty. A few fry crumbs on the passenger seat were the only sign of its owner. He gingerly lowered down at the wheel and reached for the glove box. A valid registration card inside carried the name Harriet Livingston. Now he was getting somewhere. He shoved the paper back inside the otherwise empty compartment.

  While searching the interior for a rear hatch release button, a curious object caught his attention. A small black rock with smooth flat surfaces was resting on the dash.

  When his fingers grasped the shiny stone, a jolt of energy vibrated up his arm, causing him to drop it to the floor. He flexed his fingers open and closed. The jolt had not
injured them or left any lasting effect.

  He spread his legs and peered to the shadowy floor, but the stone was nowhere to be seen.

  "I'm glad you found it," a voice announced.

  He jerked violently at the sight of Nigel seated next to him.

  "Holy crap!" said Trey. "How'd you get in here?"

  "I'm not here, actually," said Nigel reaching his hand toward him and swiping it through his arm.

  Trey responded by waving his own hand through Nigel's projected image. "I'm dreaming."

  "No, not this time." Nigel held up a shiny stone identical to the one lost on the floor. "These things are transmitters. They're like walkie-talkies for projections."

  Unlike the dream world, Nigel's words traveled naturally through the boxy car and echoed from the windows.

  "Where are you?" Trey asked.

  "I don't know for sure. I'd say at least a hundred miles from you." He looked at Trey's chest. "How's your injury?"

  Trey rotated his shoulder. "It's getting better."

  "What about Billy?"

  Trey took a deep breath. "I don't know really. Alive, I guess."

  "I'm sorry. I feel . . . responsible."

  Trey shook his head. "You aren't the one who did this. What about you, are you all right?"

  "Yes, for now. But, I'm afraid I'm running out of time."

  "Why? What's going on?"

  "These guys . . . they're some kind of hunters. They're trying to offer me out to the highest bidder."

  "You mean, like bounty hunters?"

  "Yeah," Nigel looked away. "But more like . . . alien hunters."

  Trey swallowed hard.

  Nigel went on, "So far, no one's taking them seriously. But I'm afraid it's just a matter of time."

  "How can I find you?"

  "There's a way." Nigel held up the transmitter. "As soon as I fade away, pick up the stone on the floor and hold it tightly in your palm. Just trust the feeling and follow it."

  "Wait!"

  Nigel smiled. "Trust me, just close your hand around it." With that, he vanished.

  Trey groped the floorboard, searching for the missing transmitter. When he finally caught a glimpse of the shiny rock below the brake pedal, he tentatively hovered his fingers above it, mentally preparing to receive another jolt. He pinched it firmly and felt nothing.

  He settled back into the driver's seat, ready to drive wherever the transmitter led him. Cautiously, he closed his fist around the smooth, cold stone. In an electrifying instant, his vision streaked miles ahead like lightning. A blinding white light faded, and a completely foreign location gradually took shape in his midst.

  In the center of a sparsely decorated bedroom, the blonde female version of Nigel lay bound on a twin-size bed.

  Trey floated at her feet as a bodiless point-of-sight.

  The girl squirmed, her huge blue eyes searching in all directions. "Are you here? Project!"

  Trey was amazed that he could also hear.

  He allowed the familiar tension to flow from his remote being through the vast distance to the center of his vision.

  His body inexplicably appeared around him.

  "You made it," she said.

  "Wow! I guess I did. Wow!"

  He rushed to the bed and grabbed for the ropes around her wrists, but his fingers slipped uselessly through the bindings.

  "It's no use," she laughed. "You're just a projection."

  "What am I supposed to do then?"

  "Go outside and see if you can figure out where we are."

  "Got it," said Trey, rushing to the door. His fingers slid through the doorknob. Frustrated, he turned to her for help.

  "Just walk through it," she said.

  "Of course," he said, attempting to palm-plant his forehead, but even this proved ineffective with only a projected body.

  He rolled his artificial eyes and stepped through the wall into the unknown world outside.

  Turning back over his shoulder, a small mobile-home rested on concrete blocks with weeds as high as its flat tires He scanned the surrounding area for any landmarks that would give away their location. The rolling hills and distant mountains suggested they were well south of Longwood, but no other buildings or houses were visible in the largely forested surrounding.

  A narrow gravel road cut past the empty driveway, and he walked toward the large green mailbox at the end. After several steps, the scene around him faded to white, stopping him in his tracks. He stepped back toward the trailer and the scene clarified. The transmitter seemed to have a range limit.

  He studied everything around him, taking in every detail. Nothing triggered a clue.

  There was no car in the drive, but he doubted both men were gone. He let his body fade away and floated through the front door.

  A sleeping man was stretched out on a tattered old couch. A shirt and jacket were slung across a chair, leaving the scruffy man in a dingy white t-shirt with his belt unbuckled from his slacks. When Trey recognized the man who shot him, he let his body appear long enough to swing a useless kick through the idiot's head.

  Unsatisfied by his ineffectiveness, he lowered toward the snoring face. I'll find you.

  He turned to the task at hand. The shiny handgun on the end-table was a menacing sign of the impending danger.

  The nearly empty living room offered up no hints of their whereabouts. A few empty beer bottles and fast food wrappers rested on the coffee table.

  He was about to lose hope, when a pizza box poking out of the trash can caught his attention. An invisible smile curled across his lips. The delivery address was scrolled in marker across the attached paperwork.

  Trey darted through the walls into the bedroom where his friend was being held. "I know where to find you."

  "That's great!" she said, in a much quieter tone.

  He lowered his voice to match hers. "I'll bring help. Where can I find your mother?"

  She gave him a puzzled look. "I'm alone."

  "I know. I mean, back at Longwood. Is she living in the barn?"

  "No. I came to Longwood alone."

  "But . . . Mom talked to your mother."

  A light came on in her big blue eyes. "Ah," she said quietly, "That was me. I posed as Nigel's mother to get admitted into the school."

  Trey turned up one side of his mouth as the pieces fell together.

  "So," he said, "your name is Harriet Livingston."

  She forced back a snicker. "No, that's my adopted mother. I haven't seen her in months."

  Trey thought of his own parents, supposing he was also adopted.

  Forcing the thought aside, he asked, "What's your real name then?"

  Her smooth pale cheeks flushed with color. "It's Nigel."

  He tried to hide his confusion.

  She explained, "When my parents adopted me, they wanted a boy, and I guess, even as a baby, I was able to show them what they wanted."

  He lifted his eyebrows.

  "Yes," she answered, "I was raised as a boy named Nigel. But when I was older, I couldn't hide certain . . . girl things."

  Trey nodded in understanding.

  "It fell apart from there. Finding out I was a girl devastated them, but learning I was . . . you know, they couldn't handle it."

  Feelings of guilt washed over him. He had no idea if his parents were his real family, but he did know they loved him.

  He looked sympathetically into her wide blue eyes. "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be," she said brightly. "I'm past it. Way past it."

  He smiled. "But I gotta say; you don't look like a Nigel."

  "Well," she grinned, "who then?"

  "I don't know. Haven't you thought about what you'd like to be called?"

  She shrugged. "No, I guess not."

  He thought for a moment. "How about Nell?"

  Her grimace told him to keep trying.

  "Nigel Livingston," he said, groping for ideas. "I know, how about Livy?"

  She beamed. "Livy, I think I could get used
to it."

  "Livy Livingston it is then," he said.

  "Oh, let's just stick with Livy, it doesn't quite work together."

  They both laughed, perhaps too boisterously.

  Loud thumping footsteps erupted outside the room.

  Trey faded just before the door flew violently open.

  "Who are you talking to?" the man bellowed, wielding the flashy pistol.

  "I-I was bored. I was talking to myself," said Livy.

  The man gave an unconvinced look around the room, then lowered the gun. "Tell yourself to shut up then, you little brat."

  He walked to the window and peeked through the curtains. After checking the window latch, he slid the closet door and waved his weapon at the empty space inside.

  Finally convinced, he stomped away leaving the bedroom door hanging wide open.

  Trey nervously floated toward Livy's ear and whispered, "I'll be back for you."

  She nodded.

  He tried to force his vision to his distant body, but nothing happened. After several failed attempts, he whispered again, "How do I go back?"

  "Open your hand," she said softly.

  He nodded his invisible head. Realizing she couldn't see him, he added quietly, "Thanks."

  For a moment, he struggled to distinguish his imaginary hand from the true one that clutched the tiny transmitter hundreds of miles away.

  The instant his real hand opened, he saw the steering wheel and windshield appear ahead of him like waking from a dream.

  He placed the stone gently on the dash and powered up his phone. Ignoring the countless missed call and text notifications, he pulled up the map and searched for every Shadow Hill Road within a five-hundred-mile radius.

  Masquerade

  TREY OPENED THE barn doors wide enough to accommodate Livy's small Toyota. The sunlight pouring in forced his eyes to a painful squint. He filled his lungs with the cool fresh air, free of stale animal and dirty blood.

  On his way back to the car, Nigel stood watching him from the passenger side.

  "You wouldn't want to go alone would you?" the boy asked.

  Trey looked across the top of the car. "Which is it? Are you a boy or a girl, or do you even know?"

  "I'm all girl," said Nigel, batting his eyes in an unsettling manner.