Misplaced Trilogy

by Brian Bennett

  "I know, but that was prom, and it's been almost six months."

  "Dang, has it been that long?"

  They both nodded in amazement.

  "Maybe you two should go out," said Trey coyly. "Then you could protect her from all the hound dogs."

  Zach looked up with interest. "Wouldn't that make things weird between all of us?"

  Trey burst out in laughter. "Weird?"

  Zach laughed along then turned serious. "You know what I mean though. We'd all still be friends, right?" He folded his hands behind his head. "Like she'd be interested in me anyway."

  Trey smiled and focused on his driving. As he thought of Livy miles ahead, he began to understand for the first time why any attraction to Amy had seemed so misplaced. A few minutes later, Zach's fingers were flying a mile a minute on his own keypad.

  * * *

  Trey's nerves edged closer to the surface as each route-change took them onto a progressively smaller road.

  "I want to get this straight right now," he said. "You know the plan, and I don't want you out of the car until I signal. And if things go south, you get the hell out of there."

  "Yes, Papa," Zach feigned in a childlike voice.

  "I'm serious about this. I'll turn around right now."

  "Don't sweat it. It's the plan and I'll follow it. It's a crazy plan, but I think it'll work."

  "And if it doesn't, you'll leave and go for help?"

  Zach shook his head. "I can't promise you that."

  Trey slammed on the brakes. The anti-locks effectively tossed them forward, harder than he expected.

  At a dead stop in the center of the road, Trey's hand threatened throwing the shifter in reverse.

  "All right," Zach said. "Just drive, you thick head."

  Before long, they were reading mailboxes as the numbers increased higher and higher toward 3826 Shadow Hill Road.

  They rounded a sharp bend in the gravel road and a mobile home appeared in the distance. Trey recognized the car in the driveway; there was no need to read the box number.

  "That's it," Zach also confirmed.

  Trey nodded, speeding up to avoid drawing attention.

  Once he passed beyond sight of the trailer, he watched for a wide spot and whipped an easy three-point turn. The car came to a rolling stop at the edge of the gravel road.

  "All right," said Trey. "I'm gonna check on Livy first."

  He held up the small stone.

  Zach stared at it in awe and disbelief. "If you say so."

  Trey relaxed in his seat and closed his hand around the transmitter.

  A lightning flash later, he was surveying the kitchen of the small trailer. The other transmitter was resting on the fridge alongside the dark, heavy-looking weapon.

  The men were relaxed in different seats now but postured, as before, with socked feet on the coffee table.

  It took Trey a moment to locate the shiny handgun; it was now resting on the small bulky TV that blared an old black-and-white episode of I Love Lucy.

  He looked down the narrow hallway to an open bedroom door. As he made his way toward it, he paused to peer into the empty bathroom and found no surprises.

  From the corner of the bedroom, he gazed at the helpless girl strapped to the bed like an animal. Her huge eyes were closed, and from this angle, she looked almost human. He pondered how to announce his presence without startling her yet again.

  Before he could decide, her eyes opened and curiously scanned his side of the room. A hint of a smile enchanted her face.

  When his body projected around him, her smile brightened.

  He grinned and faded back to invisibility, moving closer to her, within eye-shot of the men down the hall.

  "Zach and I are nearby," he whispered toward her tiny ear.

  She nodded lightly. Worry crept into her smile.

  He wanted to squeeze her hand, but even if he tried, his projection couldn't impart his tender gesture.

  "Be ready," he added, before unfolding his fingers from the transmitter.

  He turned to Zach seated next to him in the car.

  Zach shook away a stupefied stare. "Welcome back."

  Uncomfortably, Trey asked, "Did I say anything?"

  "No, you just zoned out."

  Trey nodded. Any relief was overshadowed by the huge knot in his stomach brought on by their looming task. "Are you ready then?"

  "No," Zach said, making light.

  "Me either, but here goes everything."

  Rescue

  TREY PULLED IN and parked crossways at the head of the driveway, ready for a quick getaway if needed. The small stone on the dash projected the arrival of his black-and-gold sheriff’s cruiser.

  Smead always kept his wide-brimmed hat on the passenger seat, and Trey envisioned himself stepping out of the patrol car and putting on the hat as he'd seen the man do so often. The idea of a bulky artificial hat worried him, so he turned toward the trailer without it, being sure to include the hat-ring pressed into his light-colored hair.

  He moseyed up the gravel driveway a few paces and looked back at Deputy Zach seated inside. From this distance, who would know his partner had on a t-shirt and blue jeans?

  Casually, he looked inside the grimy windows of the other car. The act was more for show; he knew all he needed to know about the lowlifes who drove the long, black rust-bucket.

  At the front stoop, he raised his knuckles to knock, but the door opened ahead of him.

  "Officer?" said the ugly mug of the man who shot him. "What can I do for ya?"

  Trey mustered courage and answered in Smead's deep, confident voice. "I'd like to have a few words with you . . . and your friend."

  The man glanced down the hall and back. "Yeah, I'm here alone. What do ya want?"

  Trey looked past him and saw a closed bedroom door in the distance. His plan was already unraveling.

  He pressed on. "I'm investigating a runaway kid who shot up a couple of his school buddies up north in Longwood."

  Before the man had time to deny it, he continued. "An old lady name-a Taylor says a couple guys driving that vehicle behind me were asking questions about the boy just a few days ago."

  The man shifted uneasily in his untied shoes.

  Trey threw out the bait. "Are you some kind of private investigators?"

  He got a nibble. "Uh . . . yeah, somethin like that."

  "So then, you know about the huge reward."

  The man's eyes lit up. But before Trey could set the hook, the big one got away. "We're done with that job. And we're private investigators, so I can't answer no questions."

  Trey nodded. It was a long shot and he would have been shocked if it actually worked. Plan B was now in effect.

  Sheriff Smead raised a pointed finger toward the man's dingy-t-shirted chest. A standard-issue revolver took shape in his hand faster than either of their brains could register.

  "I'm gonna have to ask you to join me with my deputy in the car."

  The thug looked toward the cruiser and pursed his lips in aggravation.

  Trey stepped aside and motioned him out. "Keep your hands where I can see them."

  The man heeded, and Trey followed along behind him. The shiny handgun glimmered, half-tucked into the back of the man's pants. Trey snagged the pistol and shook his head; Smead would have frisked him.

  Having a real gun was not a part of plan B. It was a welcome bonus, but what was seriously missing was Carl. He had fully intended to hold both men at simulated gunpoint while Zach freed Livy.

  As he followed his suspect to the cruiser, all the things that could go wrong played through his mind.

  The man's footsteps slowed, perhaps sensing something wasn't right.

  Trey reacted swiftly, smacking the man's head hard with the butt of the gun. The big man faltered but didn't go down. A sweeping shin to the back of the dazed man's legs brought him to his knees.

  Trey let go of the sheriff image and pointed the pistol at the man's nose. "Say a word and I'll bl
ow your ugly face off."

  The man shook his head nervously at the teen he'd gunned down the night before.

  Trey looked away long enough to signal Zach out of the cruiser. When his friend arrived at his side, he passed over the pistol. "Hold him."

  For a moment, Trey studied Carl's partner. His internal vibes fluttered as he mirrored the man's every detail.

  Zach did a double-take when he noticed the change.

  Trey looked to the stone transmitter on the dash of the car, a way of knowing what to expect behind the closed bedroom door. Sparing no time, he shunned the idea and made a bee-line toward the trailer wearing the ugly body of Carl's partner.

  He lightly tapped on the closed bedroom door. "Hey, it's me. The cop's gone."

  When no reply came, he nervously turned the knob and eased it open. Carl stood at dead-aim toward him.

  "What did he want?" Carl said, lowering his weapon.

  "He wanted to know if he could count on me for a vote."

  When Carl relaxed his shoulders, Trey turned to Livy. It caught him off-guard seeing Nigel tied to the bed rather than Livy's usual appearance.

  The boy's equal look of surprise was hard to interpret. A discreet wink settled it that Livy knew he was Trey.

  Carl shoved his large handgun into the back of his pants and waited for Trey to clear the room ahead of him. Trey wracked his brain for how to turn the tables.

  "What's wrong with the brat?" Trey asked, hoping Livy would play along.

  All the color washed from Nigel's lifeless expression.

  Carl looked at the boy and shook his head. "It's another one of his tricks."

  "I don't know; it looks pretty convincing." Trey added a flare of worry. "He's not worth as much dead."

  "He was fine a minute ago," grumbled Carl.

  "Check his pulse, will ya?"

  "You check it if you're so damn concerned."

  Trey shook his head rapidly. "I ain't touchin a dead body."

  Carl rolled his eyes and moved closer to the bed. The grip of the gun showed itself as he turned to check Nigel's pulse.

  Trey took several quick, light steps forward and grabbed the pistol.

  "What the . . .?" Carl spun around to his partner.

  Trey kept up the ruse, "I can't do this anymore, Carl. It's not right. Let the boy go."

  Carl furrowed his brow. "What's wrong with you, man?"

  His eye's suddenly widened. "You're not Dale."

  "And you're not leaving this room," said Trey, raising his aim from chest to head. "Untie the boy."

  "Where's Dale?"

  "I ate him," Trey scoffed. "Tasted like shit."

  Livy burst out in boyish laughter.

  "Now untie him, I said!"

  Carl finally did as he was told.

  When Nigel was up and free, Trey head-motioned Carl to the bed. "Now, lie down."

  Carl reluctantly assumed the spread-eagle posture and Livy tightly secured the ropes.

  A gunshot outside spun all of their heads toward it.

  Trey froze, unable to move even a finger.

  Livy eased toward him, keeping her gaze down the hallway to the open front door.

  Trey's heart sank to his gut. An ugly man in a dingy t-shirt was running toward them in the distance. He ducked away from the door, pulling Livy with him.

  Loud footfalls hit the front of the trailer and stopped.

  "There's two of them, Dale!" yelled Carl from the bed. "They've got my gun."

  Trey quickly transformed into Carl's twin. "Don't listen to him, Dale, it's another one of his tricks." He stepped into the doorway and waved the confused man on. "Get back here."

  "Don't do it, Dale." cried Carl.

  Livy joined in the mix, transforming into Carl's triplet.

  Dale bounded down the hall and stopped cold when he entered the bedroom.

  Trey and Livy were aiming their weapons at each other. "He's a fake," they said simultaneously.

  "They're both fakes!" hollered Carl.

  Dale's gun flashed back and forth between Trey and Livy.

  Motion down the hall turned Trey's attention. Zach stood at the front door, staring toward them with his hair and clothes disheveled. Trey’s best friend showed obvious signs of a struggle, but no blood, and where the stray bullet had headed was now irrelevant.

  When Dale turned to see the source of Trey's smile, Trey and Livy directed their guns at Dale.

  "Drop it," said Trey.

  "What he said," added Livy.

  Dale lowered his gun to his side in defeat, and Livy coaxed his fingers to release it into her hand.

  With their real guns pointed at him, they backed their way down the hall.

  Just before reaching the front door, Trey remembered the transmitter and darted to the fridge and grabbed it.

  "Go, go, go," he yelled, sending them all on a mad dash to the car.

  Zach arrived first and threw himself at the wheel. Trey and Livy piled into the back and the car was speeding away in seconds.

  Trey watched the trailer disappear from sight through the back glass. He turned to Livy at his side. His relief turned to surprise when her huge blue eyes stared back at him. He looked at the rearview mirror to see if Zach was noticing her true appearance.

  "What is it?" Livy asked.

  Trey shook it away along with Carl's ugly body. He turned to pat their getaway driver on the shoulder, but something was drastically wrong. His projected fingers slid through Zach's shoulder with no feeling.

  "No, No, No!" he cried, looking to Livy.

  Her eyes glistened wet with full understanding.

  Trey slowly opened his remote hand. Standing directly beside the refrigerator where he had grabbed the transmitter, Trey stared into Dale's angry face. Before his mind could catch up to the sad reality, Dale had the gun and transmitter pried from his fingers.

  Transmit

  TREY SAT IN a kitchen chair with the barrel of a gun staring at him. Dale kept a steady aim while Carl studied the shiny stone transmitter, twisting it in his fingertips.

  The odor of festering trash and stinky feet permeated the small trailer, leaving Trey to conclude that smells don't transmit in a projection.

  Livy's soft voice whispered in his ear, "We're going for the real sheriff. Hang in there."

  The words offered little reassurance.

  Carl turned his dark eyes toward Trey and scanned him head to toe. He moved closer and poked at his face and tugged his short spiky hair.

  "Get your hands off me, you creep," grumbled Trey.

  The man started to chuckle. Dale chuckled along obliviously.

  "He's just a teenage twerp," said Carl. "And the other one's just a worthless boy."

  Dale quit chuckling and gave his partner a confused look.

  Carl held up the stone. "It's this thing." He closed his eyes and clasped his hands around it.

  When nothing happened he opened his eyes and glared at Trey. "How does it work?"

  Trey shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about. It's just a rock."

  Carl grabbed the gun from Dale and pressed it to Trey's temple. "Let's just see if you bleed alien blood."

  "All right, all right," Trey pleaded. "You're right. It's the stone, I'm just a kid."

  "Tell me how it works." Carl pressed the cold steel harder against Trey's skin.

  Trey fought hard for an answer he didn't know.

  Livy whispered in his opposite ear. "I'm here."

  He smiled inwardly, understanding her words.

  "Okay," he said, "I'll tell you. Just get the gun out of my face."

  Carl eased the gun away and handed it back to Dale. "If he pulls any tricks, don't hesitate."

  Trey took a deep breath. "We'll start with the easy stuff. Rub it against your face a couple times then pinch it between your fingers."

  The man gave a skeptical look, but did as instructed.

  Moments later, Livy projected in front of the man in his exact likeness. Like a bad mir
ror, she mimicked every motion he made. Soon, he was moving wildly and chuckling to his favorite puppet show ever.

  "How do I make it stop?" he finally asked.

  "How do I make it stop?" echoed Livy.

  "Open your fingers," said Trey.

  The man's twin vanished.

  "Let me try," cried Dale enthusiastically.

  Carl ignored him. "How do you make it look like someone else?"

  Trey had been dreading this more difficult task, but an idea sparked in the nick of time. "It remembers every person it touches. It takes some practice, but you can dial them in like a tuner on a radio." He held out his hand and turned an imaginary knob. "Just turn the stone to the left a little and pinch it again."

  When Carl tried again, Sheriff Smead appeared, startling Carl and Dale both.

  The image of the sheriff blinked away. A moment later, it appeared again. It blinked away a few more times then disappeared permanently.

  "What's wrong, why's it not working?" ask Carl.

  Trey had no idea what was happening. His heart raced, worried Livy was in some sort of trouble.

  Her reassuring whisper calmed him. "I don't want to do this all day. Think of something."

  "Oh," said Trey calmly, "It needs recharged. It's been used quite a bit over the last few days."

  Carl searched it for power connections.

  "The freezer," Trey lied, "Put it in the freezer. It'll take several hours to recharge."

  "Days," Livy whispered.

  "Maybe days."

  "Nice try. Hours it is." Carl gave him an evil smirk. "Now where'd you kids get them?"

  "I found it, and there's just one of them."

  Carl clenched his fist and spoke through gritted teeth. "Don't give me that crap. I had this one when you showed up."

  His angry eyes ventured toward the blood stain on Trey's shirt. His smirk returned. "I'll bet that shoulder hurts, doesn't it?"

  Beads of sweat began to form on Trey's forehead.

  Words from one of his father's books echoed through Trey's frantic mind. The tale he remembered involved diamonds, but he improvised. "Okay," he said. "It's hard to believe, but I'll tell ya."

  Carl gave him a wary eye.

  Trey went on. "It all started back in the twenties. When those dudes dug up King Tut's tomb, they found two of these black stones. There was one in each eye socket of the king's skull. His real eyes were found somewhere else, pickled in clay jars."