"Then why the little boy skin?"
"Those thugs still haven't seen me for real. I can't project Nigel there and myself here. I'm not that talented."
"But when I saw you in the bed, you looked like yourself."
"What you see while projecting is the real deal; you can't see a projection remotely."
Trey looked at his dark-haired, dark-eyed reflection in the car window.
"That's right," Nigel said. "I see the real you right now."
Trey threw open the car door and settled inside. The pain in his shoulder was an aching reminder that his body was real, no matter how he disguised it.
Nigel lowered into the passenger seat and they backed out of the barn, adding another set of tracks for Sheriff Smead to ponder over along with the strange disappearance of the old John Deere.
A few miles up the road, the family mini-van was parked in the driveway alongside the sheriff's cruiser. Trey's hand rose to shield his face as they passed his home.
"I don't think they'd recognize you in this car." Nigel said.
"Probably not," Trey admitted.
Nigel seemed hesitant. "You know, you didn't have to cover yourself. You can show any face you want."
Trey glanced into the rearview. "I don't know . . . this is who I've always been. I'm not sure I even know how."
Nigel smiled. "You know. You just . . . didn't know."
Trey shook his head and chuckled. "What about this car? How did you make it look like a tractor?"
Nigel pointed to the small stone on the dash. "The transmitter can project any image you can imagine around whatever it touches." He looked behind them. "Pull over."
Trey slowed to a stop at the edge of the road. "What now?"
"What kind of car would you like to be driving?"
"Hmm," said Trey. "A Ferrari."
Nigel huffed. "That's inconspicuous."
Trey thought for a moment. "Okay, I got it."
When no details followed, Nigel said, "Fine, picture it in as much detail as you can with your finger touching the stone."
Hesitantly, Trey laid a finger on the transmitter and squinted while imagining his fantasy car. A soft vibration transferred from his fingertip to the stone.
He opened his eyes and looked at the car. "It didn't work."
"Are you sure?" asked Nigel. "Get out and see."
"Really? It's the same car."
"Just do it."
Trey rolled his eyes and swung open the door; a shrill squeak protested its motion.
He lumbered out onto the pavement and looked back at the sleek black exterior of a 1967 Chevy Impala.
Nigel peered out at Trey's dumbstruck expression. "I'd say it worked."
"Uh, yeah."
Trey ran his hand along the top of the door. An odd sensation tickled his stomach when his eyes saw only glass but his fingers felt the wide painted trim of the Toyota Prius.
He shut his eyes and plopped into the driver's seat, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder. His good hand lurched forward and tapped the stone to wipe away his deception. An electric jolt shot up his arm. "Dang!" he winced.
Nigel laughed. "You didn't give me a chance to warn you; it stings when you turn it off."
Trey didn't laugh.
"What's with you?" Nigel asked with concern.
Trey frowned and shook his head lightly. "It just feels . . . dishonest."
Nigel stifled a laugh.
"What?" Trey asked, slightly annoyed.
"It's just a bit funny, coming from someone who locked me out of the cafeteria."
"That was," his tone eased, "different." A smile tempted his lips.
Nigel's smile suddenly faded. A blank expression haunted his face. "I have to go."
Before Trey could say another word, Nigel vanished.
* * *
Trey pulled into the dark parking garage and whipped the nimble car into the first empty space available.
Nigel . . . Livy hadn't returned, and the whole way through town he had worried she was offended, or worse. The way she left so abruptly, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Before he could leave the car and head inside the county hospital, he had to know if he was right.
He picked up the small stone on the dash and wrapped his hand tightly around it. The lightning ride that followed was fully expected, but no thrill was lost in its delivery.
When the room took shape through the blinding light, Trey was floating invisibly in the kitchen of the small trailer.
Both of Livy's captors were planted on the nearby couch with their feet propped on the coffee table. The TV blared the unmistakable sound of college football.
Trey swooped into the bedroom, leaving the muffled outbursts of the men behind him.
"Are you all right?" he whispered, as his body formed beside the bed.
Livy's startled face snapped toward him. A smile eased across her thin lips. "I'm fine."
"You had me worried," he said with relief.
Her smile hinted of concern.
"What?" he asked, "What's wrong?"
"I guess you'll have to travel alone now. They have my transmitter."
She showed her empty palms. "When Carl came back--"
"Carl?"
"Yes, and I think that's his real name, because he wasn't happy at all when the other guy said it. Anyway, when Carl got back, they searched the room again. I'm not sure how they noticed I was hiding something, but I couldn't disguise it. Carl could feel it in my fingers, and now he has it."
"Can they use it?"
She shook her head slowly. "I don't think so. But, I can't be sure."
He was surprised by her lack of knowledge. "Where did you get these things anyway?"
Her face brightened. "My father gave them to me. My real father."
Trey's eyes widened with wonder.
"He appeared in my dreams at first. When we finally met in person, he gave me a transmitter so we could see each other any time."
Sadness washed over her. "But before I really got to know him, he showed up one day and told me that it was no longer safe for us to communicate. When I tried talking to him, I could tell I was talking to a recording. He had left the other transmitter with his projected message. When I touched it, his image vanished for good, and I haven't seen him since."
"I'm sorry," said Trey.
"All I got from him before he left was that there are only a few of us."
A tear trickled from her huge blue eyes. "After two years of searching, I had almost lost hope of finding anyone else like me. But when I sensed your vibration in the cafeteria, I knew what I'd found."
Trey shook his head. "And I was a total butthead."
She smiled, "I saw through that image as well."
He huffed out a laugh, deciding not to point out the obvious image issues of her own.
"See if you can find the transmitter," she said.
"Okay, I'll be right back."
He faded into the next room and concentrated his search where he had first appeared. Sure enough, the small stone was a few feet away, sitting atop the refrigerator. A worrisome black pistol rested ominously beside it. He gazed toward the two men. The smaller shiny pistol still lay on the end-table next to them.
Back at Livy's side, he gave her the good news. "I found it. It's on the fridge."
"Good," she said, "but there's more."
She tugged hard at her bindings. When her aggravation faded, she said, "They have a buyer."
Trey swallowed hard. "Who?"
"I don't know. But they're paying big."
"Do you know when?"
"Not exactly, but the guys weren't happy about having to wait."
Trey clenched his faraway fists. "I'll get here as soon as I can."
* * *
Trey looked around the dimly lit parking garage, unsure if he should spare the time to visit Billy. Resolutely, he grabbed the keys and wobbled out of the car.
Minutes later, he turned away from the informat
ion desk. The suspicious look on the girl's face made him wish he had tried to cover his identity. He brushed the thought aside and marched toward Billy's room; he had done nothing wrong.
Through the thick glass window, Trey watched Billy's mother seated next to her son's bed. The thin, leathery-skinned woman bounced her crossed leg nervously while gazing blankly ahead. Guilty or not, he couldn't face the grief stricken woman as himself.
He filed through his recent memory and recalled the male nurse he had passed in the hallway two floors down. While picturing every detail he could bring to mind, he allowed his internal vibrations to sing to a new tune.
The faint reflection of an older man in scrubs stared back as he pushed open the door.
"How's our patient?" he asked, trying to be as upbeat as possible.
The woman shot an annoyed gaze in his direction, then softened. "He'll be just fine."
"Yeah, he's a tough one all right."
She wrinkled her brow. "Excuse me?"
"Uh, yeah, that's what the Doc tells me."
Trey moved next to the bed, pretending to make sense of the numbers on the monitor. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh."
Billy turned his head and stared up at him.
"You're awake?" he said, a little too enthusiastically.
Billy's mom glared toward nurse Trey with her puffy eyes.
"That's good," he said, "I didn't want to catch you while you were napping."
Billy clenched his fists and the familiar fire sparked in his brown eyes. Something inaudible motioned across his mute lips.
"I'm sorry," Trey said to the lady. "Would you mind stepping out for a moment, I need to check his catheter."
"Oh," She looked away, slightly flushed. "I should make a few calls."
Billy's protesting eyes glared up at the strange old man.
When the woman stepped outside, Trey gave Billy a soothing look. "Hey, don't fret. I just brought someone who wants to see ya." He slid the medical curtains around the bed and transformed outside of Billy's sight. He pushed past the curtain and stepped to the bedside.
Billy's eyes sparkled. The word Trey clearly formed on his silent lips.
"You saved us buddy," said Trey. "You're a hero."
Billy moved his head back and forth ever so slightly.
Trey pulled the neck of his shirt to the side, revealing the bloody bandage. "The bastard got me, too. But he didn't get away with it. And I tell you something else; as soon as you're up to it, we're going to arrange a private showing of all three Jigsaw movies. It'll be the biggest bash you've ever seen."
Billy raised his clenched fist and lightly punched Trey's arm.
"That's right, Billy. Jigsaw baby."
Pursuit
TREY SHUFFLED THROUGH the bustling halls of County General. His friendly male-nurse persona drew way more unwanted attention than the suspected criminal had on the way in.
When he saw the restroom sign above a door, he dodged inside to swap skins unnoticed. The door pushed open too easily and Trey plowed into someone on their way out.
"Excuse me!" he said. "Zach?"
Trey grabbed Zach and pushed him into the men's room.
"Dude! Leave me the--" Zach protested, knocking Trey's arms free.
"Wait, wait, wait," Trey insisted, holding up his hands before getting punched in the face. "It's me."
With surprising quickness, he felt his projection change. However he was doing this, it was becoming easier.
Zach looked at him with a startled expression. "Holy . . ."
Trey wrinkled his face apologetically.
"That's freakin' awesome," Zach said through a huge grin.
Trey cracked a timid smile.
"How did you do that? Never mind, I don't think I want to know. What are you doing here?"
"I came to see Billy, what do you think?"
"Are you crazy? We aren't exactly out of the woods yet."
Trey fidgeted for a moment. "What are you doing here then?"
"Smead brought me here to talk with Dad and Mom at work." He let out a huff. "They didn't even know I wasn't home last night."
"That's good . . . I guess." Trey sympathized with his friend, moving on quickly. "I did see Billy though."
"Oh yeah? Is he as bad as it sounds?"
"Nah, its Billy. He'll be harassing us in a few days."
Relief flooded over Zach. His eyes lowered to Trey's shoulder. "Maybe you should have that looked at while you're here."
Trey peered down at the injury. A spot of blood had seeped through his light colored shirt. "And tell them what?"
"I don't know. Change into a biker or something and tell them you were in a bar fight."
Trey's relished over the ingenious idea until his thoughts turned to Livy. "I'll be fine. Besides, I don't have time. Liv-Nigel needs my help."
* * *
The tires on the small Toyota squealed as Trey and Zach rounded the tight curves of the parking garage.
"Duck," yelled Trey, slowing quickly at the sight of the cruiser parked ahead. "The guy is everywhere."
Trey threw a little-old-woman smile to the Sheriff as he slowly jostled over the speed bump on his way through the exit.
A mesmerized Zach stared up at him from a crouched hiding position on the floor.
On up the street, Trey watched the hospital disappear out of view in the mirror. "I think you can get up now."
While Zach lifted into his seat, Trey let go of the old lady image he had been showing. "Are you sure about going along? I've gotten you in enough trouble already."
Zach strapped on his seatbelt. "If everything you told me is true, you need all the help you can get."
"If?"
Zach turned to his best friend. "Okay, I'll admit it's all pretty crazy, but I do believe you."
Several city blocks later, at the outskirts of town, the hybrid engine hummed quietly as Trey and Zach merged onto the interstate, headed south toward the only Shadow Hill Road that Trey hadn't eliminated as impossible.
Their lively conversation returned to the subject of Trey. "So tell me," asked Zach. "How does this shape-shifting work?"
Trey was caught slightly off-guard. "I wouldn't call it that, actually."
"Well, call it whatever, but how does it work?"
Trey thought for a moment. "I guess it's kind of like doing an impression. I just think about what someone looks like, and it just comes out."
Zach laughed. "You could make a killing on stage as an impersonator."
Trey ran with the thought, throwing on his rendition of the president. "What do you think, my fellow American?"
"Holy crap! And you sound like him, too."
Trey offered a wide presidential smile.
He let his face grow serious and looked at Zach over the small glasses of their eccentric biology teacher.
"Mr. Trumble!" cried Zach, full of elation.
Trey turned his eyes to the road. His lab coat and rubber gloves extended ahead of him to the wheel.
Zach's hand waved below Trey's chin, trying to tug his long wild imaginary beard. "I can't feel it."
Trumble answered, "That's because . . . it's an illusion."
Moments later, before Trey could anticipate his friend's action, a cell phone was pointed toward him. Out of habit, he closed his eyes and twisted his face into a silly expression.
Zach paled as the image appeared on his screen. He looked back at Trumble with a questioning gaze. "It's no wonder I can never get a serious picture of you."
"You know I have a thing about pictures."
Zach scrolled through his phone. "Where is it?"
"What?" asked Trey, his typical self again.
"There's this one funny picture I kept . . . oh."
Zach's fingers worked the screen. He put down the phone with a somber look. "It's not funny anymore."
"Why? Let me see."
"I-I just deleted it."
Trey turned to the road ahead. "It was the real me wasn't it?"
"Yeah, I t
hought it was the lighting and the angle."
"It freaks you out now doesn't it?"
"No . . . I'm not saying that at all. It's just . . . not funny."
Trey huffed in agreement.
In the awkward silence that followed, Trey's thoughts turned to his senior pictures. Like every other yearbook picture, it drew an uncanny resemblance to his Father's. The clothes and backgrounds were different, but their faces, their expressions even, were the same; a photocopy, a photo-shop copy.
Trey gave a discouraged laugh under his breath.
Zach turned to him, expectantly.
"Dad and Mom have worked hard to cover all this up. I mean, with their publishing connections, I guess it made sense for Mom to head the yearbook committee." His voice rose slightly. "Dad's the freakin’ city newspaper editor."
"Yeah," Zach interrupted sarcastically. "Sounds like they're real schmucks."
Trey gripped the wheel hard. "Well they covered it from me, too. Don't you think in seventeen years, they could have mentioned it?"
Zach took on a soothing tone. "I hear what you're saying, but maybe it's not that simple."
Trey took his eyes off the highway to delve into Zach's expression. "Have you talked to them?"
"Watch the road," said Zach, pointing ahead. When Trey obeyed, he went on, "I tried while you were out of it. . . but when I asked your Mom, she got upset, so I dropped it."
Trey's grip eased slightly.
"I bet she's worried sick," Zach offered. "You should call or something."
Trey dug for his phone and tossed it to his passenger. It wasn't the first time Zach had been his designated texter.
Zach punched away at the keyboard. "There, that ought'a help."
"What'd you say?"
Zach read the words on the screen. "Hey, I stopped to see Billy. He's awake and doing better. I'm hanging out with Zach now. I'll talk to you when I get a few things sorted out. XOXO"
"You didn't?" Trey said, backhanding Zach's shoulder.
"I did. Minus the hugs and kisses."
Trey smacked him again for pulling his chain.
"You want me to text Amy for you?"
"Give back my phone." He curled his fist. "Now!"
Zach handed it over with a grin, and Trey wrestled with a thought that had nagged him for days.
He went with his gut. "You know Amy and I aren't actually dating, right?"
"Sure," said Zach, "it was my idea. Remember?"
Misplaced Trilogy Page 5
