Misplaced Trilogy

by Brian Bennett

  Livy nodded. “He has a right to know what he’s up against.”

  Trey rose, addressing his parents at eye-level.

  “There’s something you guys should know. The women of that other world, Kryo, aren’t all dead like we were led to believe. Our biological mothers are alive, but both of them are in serious danger.”

  His father folded his arms. “The man in the hole told you this?”

  “No,” said Trey, hesitantly. “I saw them . . . in my dreams.”

  His father blinked, saying it all without words.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Dad. But I’ve told you about my strange dreams. I know when my dreams aren’t fantasy.”

  “All right,” Mr. Collins said. “But what does that change?”

  “Everything! This is bigger than me. There’s a whole race of humans . . . humans, that are facing extinction. They’ve reached out to me, and I can’t turn my back on them. I won’t.”

  His father’s attitude turned to shame as he sought for justification. “I’m not suggesting you do. I just . . . I don’t know what we can do.”

  “Well, to start with, you can ease up on the flames.”

  His mother jumped to her husband’s defense. “Trey, you know he’s only trying to protect you.”

  “Sure I do.” He looked to Livy with newfound guilt. “I get wanting to protect the ones we love.”

  Trey straightened, facing his father. “But it’s time to quit hiding in fear and turn the tables.”

  He pointed to the camper. “I don’t trust our new friend, but I have a feeling he can help us more than we think. Right now, he’s the best chance we’ve got.”

  He pictured the old man rummaging around inside. “It’s taking him a while. Should one of us make sure he isn’t rifling through our stuff?”

  His father eyed the camper suspiciously, sharing Trey’s concern.

  Trey broke for the camper and rapped on the door. “Max, did you find what you’re looking for?”

  Not a sound came from inside.

  He eased open the door. The dirty clothes were gone, and so was Max.

  He quietly stepped inside, determined to catch the spy red handed. The shower stall was empty. So was the tiny latrine. At the end of the narrow hallway, Trey stepped into the bedroom suite. The sheer curtains were pushed to the side and the roll-out windows had been knocked from their tracks, leaving a hole just big enough to fit a skinny little man.

  * * *

  Trey slammed the door of the old beat-up pickup, bringing an end to the hunt for Max. The drifter had proven his skills at becoming invisible, and now that an hour had passed, the man and his motorized bicycle were long gone.

  Mr. Collins dropped a reassuring hand onto the back of Trey’s neck as they walked toward the picnic table. “Change of plans, that’s all.”

  Trey’s rebellious attitude had withered. He almost wished his father would go back to telling it like it was. There wasn’t a damn thing they could do to help anyone a zillion miles away.

  Livy rose from her lawn chair next to Mrs. Collins. “Should we call Agent Simmons now? I’d consider this an important development.”

  “Sure,” said Trey, defeated. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled we didn’t tell him as soon as we found the old man.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I better do the talking.”

  Trey waved toward the camper. “The bat-phone is in my duffle bag. Send my love.” He suddenly stiffened. “If that little weasel took the secure phone, he’ll beg the black-eyes to save him from me.”

  Livy darted toward the camper, but Trey beat her there. Quickly inside, he snatched the bag from beneath the kitchen table and slid it out into the middle of the floor. He tore open the zipper and plunged his hand deep inside.

  “Whew,” he said, fingers latched around the thick military-style phone.

  The small victory had snapped Trey out of his funk, but Livy wasn’t convinced. She grabbed the phone away. “I’ll call.” She eyed the primitive display. “We didn’t miss any calls. That’s good.”

  She pressed one of the three quick-dial buttons. It didn’t matter which one, they were all pre-programmed to call directly to Agent Simmons.

  Trey tilted an ear to the phone as the heavy-duty speaker broadcast the dialing sequence loud and clear.

  Livy distanced herself from him with an extended arm, pressing the large phone to her ear.

  A muffled Harold Simmons answered. “Hello.”

  “Good morning, Mister Simmons. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

  His response was mixed in a jumble of distorted noise. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, per say,” she answered. “We just wanted to fill you in on some developments. Just like we said we would.”

  Only silence came on the other end.

  “Well,” said Livy. “We picked up a homeless drifter, who turned out to be one of us, not our age of course, he’s the age of our parents.”

  Grainy muttering followed that only Livy could manage. “I’m getting to that,” she said. “He’s been hiding for decades, so I think he’s a bit skittish. He ditched out on us when we weren’t looking.”

  “What?” Simmons came across quite clearly. “Where are you? No, don’t answer that.”

  Livy held the phone away from her ear as Simmons went on. “I want you to get as far from wherever you are in the next hour, then call me back and tell me where you were when you last saw him.”

  “Got it!” she said.

  Trey grabbed the phone. “Agent Simmons!”

  “Yeah? What is it, Trey?”

  He felt foolish, but asked anyway. “Are you sure the agency isn’t hiding another alien ship in a hanger somewhere?”

  “I’m sure,” said Simmons. “Now get a move on it.”

  “Wait! One more thing. How about top secret flight systems that can get us to the other side of the galaxy?”

  “We’re losing time here, Trey.”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “There’s nothing, okay? Not even remotely close. Now get moving.”

  Voyeur

  IN RECORD TIME, Trey and his family were back on the road. The bright sunlight painted Trey’s closed eyelids with flashes of bright red as he relaxed in the back seat of the truck. Before making another call to Agent Simmons, Trey was determined to find out what he was up against. A remote visit was in order.

  Once Trey managed to ignore the distracting light show, he slipped easily out of his body and stood as a projection on the black-top road, watching the back of the camper rush away without him.

  Seconds later, he found himself hundreds of miles away, looking over Simmons’s shoulder. The white-haired agent sat calmly at an ordinary government desk, scrolling through digital files on a computer screen. If Simmons was furious, he hid it well.

  Trey read enough of the classified documents on screen to know he’d spurred the agent to search for recovered alien craft. Thinking back, his questions might have seemed connected to the alien fugitive. Oh well.

  Simmons closed the files with a deep sigh that suggested he’d come up empty. He checked his watch impatiently and leaned back in his chair, staring at his desk phone.

  With nothing more to see, Trey stretched his abilities to a new level. To his astonishment, an instant later he floated amid the smoky rubble of planet Kryo. There had been no lightning ride across the galaxy like the one that had carried him there via the transmitter, but at some deep level, the cosmic ride had etched a trail into his subconscious navigation system.

  He dove into the dark rectangular hole in the ground and hovered a few feet from the dying man’s face. The peaceful eyes were closed, but they lacked the dark oval windows into one’s mind that sleeping men offered.

  Trey backed away slowly. Dead men didn’t dream.

  To his right, a dark hallway beneath the rubble faded into blackness within a short distance.

  Directly opposite the dead man, a naked alie
n lay sprawled out in a posture too disturbing to be alive. Trey couldn’t help wondering if the man had watched the alien right up until his own death. A sick feeling churned deep in Trey’s gut. He hated the black-eyes, but seeing one dead gave him no satisfaction, only remorse.

  He burst through the rubble and drifted over the planet’s rough and smoky surface, quickly crossing the boundary the transmitter had placed on him previously.

  Like a missile, he locked onto his target and rocketed toward an unscathed building with its lighted windows.

  He pierced the solid wall and held up just on the other side, surrounded by a dismal room he could only liken to a prison cell. A single bed hugged the far wall, and behind him a small, vacant desk was lit up by a flame-lit lantern, the only source of light in the room.

  A robed man entered through the draped doorway, startling Trey by his sudden appearance. The man’s curly, white hair and huge blue eyes seemed as bleak as everything else on the cold planet. The man walked past Trey without notice and stood at the thick, wavy-glass window, peering out into the ruins.

  Trey moved on. A man awake was of no more use to him than a dead one.

  From one empty room to the next, Trey floated through one wall and out the other, until finally finding an occupied bed.

  He gazed into the sleeper’s face. Two oval chasms swirled a dream world behind the man’s eyes. Without hesitation, he shrank to a point of sight and dove inside.

  * * *

  Immersed within the dream of a complete stranger from planet Kryo, Trey followed a young blond-haired boy through a brightly lit room with stainless steel walls.

  The boy laughed, leaping ahead to peer behind a metal cabinet cluttered with laboratory equipment.

  A young girl with long, messy blonde locks and huge, bright-blue eyes smiled from her hiding spot. She giggled and darted away without warning, sending the boy laughing in pursuit of her next hiding place.

  Trey altered his age to fit the scene and let himself take shape as a child trotting along in chase.

  The boy turned with a laugh, seeming excited at first to have a companion during his game of hide and seek, but his young face went sober, aging in a heartbeat.

  The laboratory faded white, and Trey faced a full-grown man amid of hazy fog of emptiness.

  “How dare you,” the white-haired man said fiercely. “Tell me who has the nerve to invade my privacy?”

  Trey aged himself to match the old man. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry? Identify yourself.”

  “I’m Trey. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  “You’ve done more than disrespect; you’ve violated the decree. When I wake, I shall have you sought and punished accordingly.”

  Trey couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m already condemned, so just add it to my rap sheet.”

  The man flared his nostrils indignantly. “Is this some kind of disturbed joke? Show yourself.”

  Trey complied, offering his true identity, right down to his blue jeans and sneakers. “I’m Trey Collins from Earth. I’ve come a long way to get your help, sir.”

  The man’s blue eyes scrutinized his intruder. His face slowly softened. “Call me Vidor, and though I don’t condone your tactics, I’m impressed by your ingenuity.”

  “So, you’ll help me?”

  “I’m afraid that’s beyond my capacity.”

  Trey shook his head. “How can you know? I haven’t even asked.”

  Vidor looked Trey up and down. “Earthly affairs are no concern of mine.”

  “But,” Trey stammered, “this isn’t just about our planet. Do you know of a man named Arken?”

  Vidor turned away, arms crossed. “Arken, Arken. If I hear that name again, my ears will bleed. Leave me now, or I’ll expel you myself.”

  “Please, don’t. Tell me what you know about him and I’ll leave. I promise.”

  Vidor turned, eyes narrowed. “I know his failings brought destruction upon us . . . vinum torbi unu. Ha!”

  Trey’s ears perked. “I’m sorry, but can you translate that into English?”

  Vidor looked uneasily into the white surroundings, as if a monster lurked in the mist. “Nonsense. It’s purely nonsense.”

  Trey stepped closer, not giving in. “Nonsense?”

  The man breathed a heavy sigh. “We shall be free.”

  “And why is that nonsense?”

  “Once, long ago, it meant something . . . to all of us. Now, there can be no freedom. We’re prisoners of our own memories.”

  Trey thought of the young girl that eluded Vidor’s chase. “It means something to the women held captive.”

  “More lies,” Vidor snapped. “Such rumors stirred the rebellious and filled the view outside my window with smoke.”

  “But it’s true. They’re still alive.”

  “Silence,” he demanded. “Some of us have seen the wretchedness . . . in the City of Bones.”

  “It’s a trick,” said Trey. “It’s an illusion, it has to be. I’ve seen the women alive, hundreds of them.”

  “Where?” he asked in mockery. “Tell me where, so I can see for myself.”

  “That’s why I need help. I don’t know where. Do you have any idea where they may . . .” Trey’s words faded away as he realized the absurdity in asking.

  Vidor’s open hand came at Trey without warning, growing in size to wrap around him like a giant claw. Excruciating pain surged through Trey as the closing hand crushed him to the point his insides threatened to explode through the top of his head.

  Trey jerked to reality in the back seat of the pickup truck, free of pain, but certain he’d barely escaped death’s permanent grip.

  Daytime Drama

  TREY ADJUSTED THE tall antennas on the portable black-and-white TV, struggling to tune in the one glitchy station he could pick up. He plopped onto the bench seat and kicked back to be distracted by someone else’s drama.

  Trey’s mother eased into the opposite seat, her eyes glued to the soap opera. “I haven’t watched this show since I was on maternity leave. I can’t believe Colton is still on there.”

  Livy pushed away from the wall she’d been leaning against. “How can you watch TV at a time like this?”

  Trey looked up with a shrug. “Simmons has his guys hunting for Max. What else can I do?”

  She pursed her lips.

  Trey was well aware he could be digging deeper into Vidor’s claims of a rebellion, but having his life nearly crushed out of him made him slightly hesitant to break the decree and jump back into another man’s dream.

  “I’m taking a walk,” she said. “I’m going stir crazy.”

  Trey turned back to the TV as she plowed through the camper door.

  His mother seemed oblivious to the spat, speaking at the screen. “Colton was married to Morgan. So what’s he doing with Brooke?”

  Trey sighed heavily and scooted out of his seat. “I’m going for a walk with Livy.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said, breaking from her mesmerized gaze. “Be careful.”

  Trey bolted from the camper and scanned the grassy farmland for Livy. He found her propped against the pickup truck, talking down to his father’s hiking boots that poked out from beneath the running boards.

  “Short walk,” he said, strolling her direction. He hunkered down to peer toward his father’s busy hands. “Something broken?”

  “No,” said Mr. Collins. ”Just a rattle that’s been bugging me. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Good, we don’t need anything else to worry about.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  “Need help?”

  “No, I’ve got this. Almost done anyway.”

  Trey rose to face Livy. “How about that walk?”

  “Sure,” she said, taking his hand with a smile.

  They strode off into the knee-high weeds and thistly wildflowers. A bitter fragrance pricked at Trey’s nose as his feet broke a path through the hot, dry field.

/>   After a sizable distance, he turned to Livy. “Do you think it’s possible to die inside someone else’s dream?”

  She considered him, continuing to walk with high steps. “You mean . . . really die?”

  “Yeah. When I was in Vidor’s dream, the pain was real, but as soon as I got out of there, it was gone.”

  “I think he just wanted to scare you. It has to be a myth that if you die in your own dream you die for real. Seriously, how would anyone know?”

  Trey laughed. “Yeah, when I was a kid I dreamed I was eaten by a circus elephant. So, that one’s busted.”

  They met a barbed-wire fence and stopped without crossing through it. Trey looked back over his shoulder to see only the top of the truck visible over the wind-stirred weeds.

  He turned to Livy and kissed her before another debate could be started. She moved closer, accepting his advance without resistance.

  * * *

  Trey sat atop a steel farm gate with Livy at his side. Grazing cattle had closed in on them, and he couldn’t remember life feeling so normal in months.

  He peered over his shoulder. Seeing his father troll through camp in the floppy fishing cap broke the trend.

  “We should probably head back,” he said. “I didn’t bring the bat-phone. Simmons may have tried to call.”

  Livy crossed one leg at a time over the gate and hopped to the ground. Trey swung his feet and vaulted down alongside her.

  They set off along a dirt path instead of trailing back through the bristly grass, and, before long, they strolled into camp just beyond the pickup.

  Mr. Collins looked up from a roadmap spread across the hood. He smiled conspicuously, begging them to notice his missing beard.

  Livy let go of Trey’s hand. “You shaved.”

  “Yep,” he said. “I was starting to look too much like our hobo friend.”

  “You wish,” Trey teased with a grin.

  “I’m glad you did,” said Livy. “I bet Ellen is, too.”