by A. J. Curry
I had also told Murphy the truth when I told him that helping me or not was utterly a matter of his own free will… but I also knew that he’d already made his decision. No, I cannot read minds− but I have been observing humankind for longer than they have been able to observe themselves.
Although I remain somewhat baffled by human mating customs and rituals, I like to think that I understand and am capable of love. Grief over love’s loss, I surely understand − what else truly animates me after all, than my own grief and loneliness? I do not believe it is possible for even me to destroy myself, but did I not hold out the hope of ending my exile any time before the end of time itself, I might well have attempted it long ago.
Murphy was as much animated by grief over his failed marriage as I ever had been over losing the voice and vision of God, easily capable of destroying himself, and further marked with a guilt he may not have even realized he had, but I realized − guilt that his present state might well have been his own doing, wittingly or not. While not actively seeking to end his own existence, it was evident to me that he was exerting the barest minimum of effort toward his own self-preservation.
I had also spoken truth when I offered to leave in Murphy’s hands the various things I had accumulated over the long centuries of my masquerade among humans, as well as when I cautioned him his various masters would likely seize these things, given the chance. I am not sure whether I would be considered “wealthy” by human standards or not. With less than human appetites and more than human abilities, my holdings barely extend past what I require for my own entertainment and the needs of my masquerade. But even this small one of my homes I had revealed to him was far more than Murphy would ever receive from those he had chosen to serve. If he was prepared to risk his small mortal life in my service, he was welcome to it all.
I had been surprised to see one of the Forest Folk stalking Murphy, far less one armed with a rifle. The beings known locally as “Sasquatch” were among those who had appeared from Elsewhere when the expanding universe grew thin spots.
Neither beasts nor humans, they were entirely capable of concealing themselves. Unlike the humans they somewhat resembled, they were entirely capable of restricting their number to what the forest could support and had neither need for nor interest in human technology. Someone had corrupted this one, and he was going to pay for it. His people have no laws as such, but believe very strongly in their customs. He was in violation of several.
His attempt at engineering an automobile accident had simplified matters for me as well as provide an opportunity to cement Murphy’s recruitment. I had ascended to the top of what I like to think of as “my mountain”, from which I could view every inch of the winding road Murphy had chosen, as well as track his pursuer. Although I need close proximity for fine control, it was no challenge for me to reach out with my mind to lower Murphy’s vehicle into my home, nor lower myself to the ravine’s edge as I did so. The shooter attempted to leave the scene of the crime. I reached out with my mind and prevented that as well.
Murphy’s decision to pass out in the back of his car was yet another opportunity I put to good use. Having restrained his assailant, I had plenty of time to ensure that Murphy’s house would not be blown to rubble before his return, as well as feed his cats and turn on his out-of-office message. He was still going to be in trouble with his “day job”, but as Murphy himself would say, “That’s what happens when you get shithammered on a school night.” At least he would be alive to make his excuses.
The sky was beginning to lighten as I returned to my own home, necessitating a somewhat more discreet approach than simply levitating over the top of a mountain or sprinting at high speed across mountain trails. At least there was no rain, for a change.
The sasquatch glowered upon my return and said nothing. I had not been gentle when restraining him. I then sat in the chair across from the one Murphy slumbered in and waited for him to regain consciousness while I considered next steps.
Six: murphy
“Actually,” Murgenstaern said to the sasquatch, “given my understanding of such things, you’re the one who’s fucked. To paraphrase one of my favorite movies, say ‘fuck’ one more time.”
I don’t know if the sasquatch caught the Pulp Fiction reference or not, but he caught the tone in Murgenstaern’s voice − and caught himself just ahead of a very unwise repetition.
Murgenstaern’s “human suit” was turned all the way up now. He sounded and acted as human as he had the first time I’d ever met him, two extremely busy days ago. But the role he was playing now wasn’t “traveling computer salesman.” I sipped some more water and sat up in my chair. This was going to be interesting.
“You’re going back North once we’re done here.” Murgenstaern was now circling the prisoner, who had essentially been hogtied with logging chains. “But first, you’re answering a couple of questions. I’ll make sure there’s enough of you left to face justice. Anything past that is entirely up to you.”
“You don’t scare me.” Sasquatches aren’t apes. They also aren’t human. They’re from somewhere else where humans didn’t happen. Now they’re here. Like the Dutch, they learn English from American TV. Which means that when they’re not talking among themselves, they sound just like anyone else in the Pacific Northwest.
“In that case you are even stupider than you look.” Murgenstaern made a gesture not unlike hailing a cab. The ‘squatch levitated as far as the chains between it’s neck and the floor permitted − which wasn’t very far. Then the steel collar around it’s neck made a creaking sound as it grew tighter. “A little hard to tell someone to fuck themselves if you can’t breathe… isn’t it?”
After not quite a minute, the creaking and the levitation both stopped… and the sasquatch apparently could once again breath.
“I could do this all day,” Murgenstaern said. “I suspect the same is not true of you. Can we talk?”
The sasquatch nodded, as much as it’s anatomy and restraints permitted. “What do you want to know?” it asked, once it could talk again.
“I want to know who you are working for and why they are using you to put a hit on my friend here.”
The pause was so long I expected to see the levitation trick again. “The little guys”, he finally said.
“What ‘little guys’?”
“You know − the little gray guys with the fucked-up eyes. Them.” The sasquatch rolled his eyes in the general direction of outer space.
“Okay, let’s say I believe you. Why?”
The sasquatch shrugged. English isn’t the only thing they learn from TV. “Ask them − I got no idea. I don’t think they like your buddy… or maybe they don’t like who he works for.”
“And what the hell would you know about that?” I said.
He glared at me. “I know what was over your house two days ago. Nice ride.”
I laughed. “Ever been in one?” The sasquatch just glared.
Murgenstaern jumped in again. I’m not sure which of us was the good cop and which one was the bad cop, given that I felt like strangling the bastard myself. “We’re almost done here,” he said. “I want to know what your instructions were and when you got them. I also want to know when you got here. If you’ve been watching my friend’s house, you didn’t just hit town.”
It was the sasquatch’s turn to laugh. It didn’t sound like American TV or even human. “I’ve been here a week. The little gray dudes made me a job offer and gave me a ride down here. When I told them who your buddy was working for, they changed the deal and upped the offer. They wanted him out of the picture, wanted it to either look like human-on-human violence or an accident.”
“What was the original offer − they just wanted you to watch him?”
The sasquatch laughed again. “The original offer didn’t have shit to do with him. They sent me down here to watch you.”
seven: caroline
While I was completing my degree, Murphy’s mom and dad both
passed away − one from pneumonia, the other from a broken heart. Murphy had almost nothing to say at the funeral, was silent for most of the drive home. Finally, he said. “Baby, life’s too short to waste it not being happy. Let’s do it. You want to move, let’s move.”
So we did it. We moved.
By the time I’d finished my Masters, a friend of a friend of my academic advisor told me about a job. It wasn’t perfect − no job is − but it looked pretty good, and I would’ve taken anything that finally got me out of Houston.
Murphy flew out with me for the final interview. He not only got the telecommute deal from his boss, he got some time off to move. I wanted to go by myself, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He genuinely seemed to believe something terrible would happen to me if I was travelling alone. It was annoying; I’d been travelling alone since I was a teenager.
“You act like I’m going to get kidnapped or something,” I told him. “I’m not a child.”
“I never said you were,” he said. “I still worry about you, though. Anyhow, what’s the harm? I can talk to real estate agents while you’re interviewing.”
Things moved fast after that. I got the job, Murphy found a house − a condo, really, with a layout that was strangely reminiscent of his old duplex back in Montrose. The neighborhood wasn’t anything similar, though. Montrose is the hippy/queer/punk part of Houston, or at least it used to be. Our new neighborhood was almost suburban − as far as Murphy was concerned, it was “the burbs” − but it had rolling green hills, some of which were practically mountains compared to the flatlands of the Texas Gulf Coast.
Closing out Murphy’s old duplex turned out to be less of an ordeal than I thought it would be. Whatever secrets or evidence of ghosts I’d expected to find had either vanished when no one was looking or maybe had never really existed in the first place. Not for the first time, I wondered if Murphy was really as strange as I thought or if maybe I was a little nuts.
We sold almost everything, what we didn’t sell got packed into a storage container and sent ahead, along with Murphy’s old Porsche. The cats came with us, flying first class in valium-induced nirvana in soft-sided carriers crammed under our seats.
“So… is it everything you thought it would be?” We were sitting on the deck of our new/old condo. Murphy had started a fire in the firepit, but I was still a little cold. I took the wine glass Murphy offered me and pulled an old comforter closer around my shoulders.
“Too soon to tell,” I told him. “But it’s different.”
It was. To anyone who’d grown up on the Gulf Coast, the Pacific Northwest looked like another planet. The sky was bluer, the air was cleaner, the green of the plants surrounding us greener. Over the trees, I could see the surrounding hills. Beyond them I could see mountains.
“Yup, true that. Are you happy?”
I knew that “too soon to tell” wasn’t the answer he’d want, even if it was the truth. The real truth was that I didn’t know if I was happy or not−and I never had. I had been with Murphy longer than I’d ever been with anyone. When I’d told him I wanted to move, I halfway expected we’d break up first, almost wanted it to happen.
I didn’t know if I was happy or not − but I wasn’t unhappy. And he loved me.
God help us both. He really, really loved me.
eight: murgenstaern
I know of precisely one way of traversing interstellar or intergalactic space: Under my own power, one light year at a time, before an expanding universe clipped my wings. As far as I know, the ancient and more recent astronauts that have complicated Earth’s history are all, with my sole exception, from adjacent parallel universes. It remains an interesting question whether these universes trace back to the same Creator as this one or if there are also parallels to God, but none of that particularly matters to me. My one concern is reuniting with the Creator God that made me, and whatever of my siblings remain from Creation’s dawn.
The creatures variously described in Earth’s folklore as “moonmen,” “little green men from Mars,” and (more accurately) “greys” were, of course, from no such places. They had arrived from Elsewhere, bringing with them technology far in advance of anyone else’s, bringing with them as well a client species − the creatures the same folklore named as “sasquatch”, “yeti”, or “Bigfoot”.
I found profoundly disturbing the idea that Greys had set one of their lackeys to watch over my home. Precautions I’d taken after my attempted abduction centuries before ought to have made that impossible. The timing bothered me even more. If this were not mere coincidence, it would mean they had known of the Seraphim Stone’s arrival in the solar system before even I had known. This would make them even more advanced than previously supposed. It might also confirm a long-standing suspicion of mine that placed them behind that botched abduction.
Too many things were happening at once that should not be happening at all. I was beginning to wonder if I had grown complacent over the years, perhaps a little too sure of my own invulnerability and superiority to the lesser creatures that either evolved on or migrated to this planet. Now that my opportunity to leave this place was at hand, could I have jeopardized it out of sheer arrogance?
I could sense the Seraphim Stone growing closer, suspected Murphy’s guesses at it’s destination were entirely accurate. When it arrived, I intended to be there.
Leaving the sasquatch chained to the floor, I bid Murphy to follow me up a short staircase to another section of my home − a gallery cut into the side of the ravine he’d plunged into the night before, affording a view of the valley below. He seemed not only recovered from the experience, but different in other ways as well.
“Our friend below has good hearing,” I said. “But not so good as to hear this conversation.”
“Agreed.”
“I no longer have the luxury of awaiting your decision. Are you with me or not?”
“I’m in. I still need to figure out how to keep all of this off Colvin Case’s radar, but I’ll do it.”
“If I may ask, what decided you?”
“You asked me a very goddam good question last night that I just happen to have been asking myself for months. I don’t exactly know what I want to do with the rest of my life, but I’m pretty sure that I don’t want to spend it dying a little bit at a time from regret and remorse. I’ve been doing that for most of the last year. It sucks.”
“Dying ‘a little bit at a time’ may well be the least of your concerns past this point,” I told him.
He shrugged and laughed − still bitter, not quite as nasty. “Yeah, there’s always that. When I went through that guardrail last night, I had every reason to believe I’d done screwed the pooch already. It wasn’t how I want to go out. Now that I’ve seen some of what you can do, I’m inclined to think this might actually work. Any other tricks up your sleeve I should know about?”
“All shall be revealed by the time it matters.”
“Fine, whatever − I’m good with what I’ve got so far. What’s next?”
“What’s next is that I am going to return our friend downstairs to the nearest of his people, while you make whatever arrangements need be made to provide cover for your absence. That absence will either not exceed two day’s time or very probably be permanent. I should be back in not more than three to four hours. Be prepared to leave.”
“Next stop Area Fifty Whatever, I take it?”
“I think so,” I said. “Things are moving fast. So must we.”
“Cool. Can you give me a lift?”
“I can do better than that.”
nine: murphy
Any remaining doubts I may’ve had about Murgenstaern’s fine-control telekinesis went away sometime between watching him fix the damage to my old Porsche by looking at it… and when I got home and had a good look at my modem.
Any remaining doubts about his ability in the heavy lifting TK department went away when the Porsche, myself, and the ‘squatch levitated back up to the road surface −
more or less to where I’d been before the ‘squatch shot my tire out. Any doubts about any other abilities went away when he slung a half-ton of hogtied sasquatch over his shoulder, waved, and sprinted up an old logging road like Steve Austin, at what looked like somewhere around 30 MPH and accelerating.
I headed the other way on the same road, which ran into the road I had been trying to take home the night before. As promised, I found my car parked just short of the intersection, the keys still in the ignition. Ten minutes later, I was home.
Whatever Murgenstaern had done to my home security system to get in, he’d been obliging enough to undo it when he left. There was no indication whatever that anyone had gotten past it at all. As for my booby-trapped VPN/modem setup, whatever he had done was basically beyond me. The explosive charge had been removed − it was sitting on my kitchen table, which I found a little unnerving − but the sensors that were supposed to detect any tampering and set off an alarm back in DC were completely convinced they were part of a fully functional bomb. I’d have some explaining to do the next time my home office setup was due for a field inspection, but I had more immediate concerns.
A quick scan through my emails revealed nothing of huge importance. A performance review meeting I hadn’t particularly been looking forward to had been moved up from a couple of months out to next week. There were a couple of pissy emails from Case, reiterating suggestions from earlier in my divorce that I should consider either therapy or AA. The really good news was that my team had performed flawlessly in my absence for a change. Our part of the Archangel Array cover-up had worked perfectly. Other emails confirmed Murgenstaern’s insider info that the Array itself would shortly be arriving at Area Fifty Whatever.
