Abduction

by Rodman Philbrick

  Her eyes flew open. The blue jumped out at him. She looked startled, even shocked.

  Luke realized how strange this must seem to her, finding herself in his arms. He started to put her down, planning to apologize and explain what had happened.

  But Mandy abruptly threw her arms around his neck. She buried her head on his shoulder and began to sob.

  Astonished, Luke hurried toward the building. He had to get her out of the sun.

  Behind him there was an angry hiss. Mandy stiffened in his arms at the sound.

  Luke looked back. Quentin was eyeing him with pure hatred. His bright, even teeth were bared in a snarl. If looks were lasers, Luke would be dead.

  Mandy squirmed out of Luke’s arms. She faced Quentin.

  “What do you want?” she demanded, hands on hips, her jaw jutting angrily. Her knees were visibly shaking.

  “Among other things”—Quentin blew her a kiss—“I want you.”

  Mandy’s face twisted with disgust and loathing. “But I don’t want you.”

  “It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if you did,” Quentin replied, his lip curling in a sneer.

  Luke felt like he should do something.

  The gang of skinheads had fanned out behind Quentin, watching him eagerly. They, too, wanted him to do something. Even Jeff. Especially Jeff?

  Luke’s younger brother licked his lips with excitement as he waited for Luke to move.

  Mandy grabbed his arm. “Let’s go in, Luke,” she said.

  Behind them, the ’heads yelled and jeered. They moved in closer, pressing with silent menace.

  Luke began to wonder if the building was a trap. He tucked Mandy’s arm closer against his side. Should they run for it? But a check from side to side told him it was already too late.

  The skinheads flanked them on both sides. There was nothing to do but go inside. At least inside they wouldn’t be trapped alone with the gang. Other people had been going in. Normal people.

  Mandy hurried up the steps, pulling Luke along. Once inside, Luke was surprised to see how many people had showed up. Chairs had been set up in rows to face what had been the front counter. More than half the seats were taken.

  It was an odd collection of people. There were ordinary Greenfield citizens, curious probably. Most of them sat together in a clump, as if to protect themselves from the others.

  These other people were obviously not from Greenfield. Many looked disturbed, even crazy. Some passed out handwritten pamphlets detailing their experiences. Some spoke loudly to invisible aliens.

  A few even wore their version of alien dress, like they thought this was a Star Trek convention or something.

  Luke’s eye was drawn to an elegant woman who stood alone against a side wall, observing the room with detached amusement.

  She had shiny coal-black hair and wore bright red lipstick. She wore jeans that fit like gloves and boots with high heels. And she was chomping hungrily on a Mars bar.

  Luke and Mandy slipped into seats on the aisle.

  There was a commotion behind them as the skinheads clattered in. Heavy boots scraped and stomped on the old wooden floor. Chairs were shoved around.

  The atmosphere suddenly became a lot more tense. People looked back over their shoulders nervously.

  “What are you looking at, you old fart?” The skinhead’s challenge cut through the remaining murmurs of idle chatter.

  Quentin stopped beside a beefy man at least twice his size. Two skinheads in black T-shirts and torn black jeans flanked Quentin on either side. He smiled wolfishly.

  “Excuse me, is that seat taken?” Quentin asked, pointing to the chair the man was sitting in.

  The big man, obviously not used to being intimidated, started to bristle. The four goons behind Quentin took a half step forward, almost on tiptoe with anticipation. The man shook his head, got up, and took a different seat.

  As the skinheads moved into the last rows with maximum noise, Luke felt himself start a slow burn. He’d like to get one of those creeps alone. They wouldn’t be quite so brave and sneering without their gang to back them up.

  At the same time he was aware of a flutter of fear in his gut. Besides taking over the last rows, the skinheads had bottled up the exit.

  Luke could feel the attention of the room riveted on the rear, even though everyone sat rigidly face forward. They all knew they couldn’t leave.

  “Well, if we’re all settled, let’s get started.” Luke hadn’t noticed the gray-ponytailed man position himself behind the store’s front counter. He was an aging hippie-type, wearing wire-rim glasses, a T-shirt, baggy jeans, and beat-up sandals.

  The man smiled nervously, his eyes flicking toward the rear. “I’m Alan Smith, head of Alien Watch,” he said. “Alien Watch has come to your community because we have reason to believe you have visitors from beyond our solar system.”

  Suddenly all the skinheads began drumming the floor with their heavy boots. The noise was deafening. The old building shook. Luke felt his stomach knot while anger pumped through his veins.

  Suddenly he was on his feet. “Stop it!” he yelled. “Stop it! Let him talk!”

  The noise grew louder, a riot of stamping—directed at him now. Dozens of blazing eyes met Luke’s. He had just given them all the excuse they needed to tear him apart.

  Luke felt as if his stomach had dropped abruptly out of his body. He had played right into their hands.

  But his heart was still pounding with fury. Someone had to stand up to these creeps.

  A couple of the gang picked up the folding chairs in front of them and began to bang them on the floor, too, grinning with mindless glee. The noise grew so loud it sounded like a fleet of jets revving up for takeoff in the tiny building.

  People covered their ears with their hands. Luke could no longer hear his own thoughts.

  And then Quentin raised his hand. Instantly, the noise stopped. Quiet was restored.

  The gang’s attention was still fixed on Luke. Several of the boys actually seemed to be panting with anticipation, their fists clenching spasmodically.

  “Luke, Luke, Luke.” Quentin shook his head sadly. “As brave as he is dumb. Or as dumb as he is brave. What did you think they were going to do? Go all trembly and put their fingers over their lips?”

  Luke felt a stab of white-hot anger go through him. He actually hated Quentin, he realized. Helplessly.

  Quentin sighed. “And now I suppose I’ll have to let them have you.”

  One of the gang started half out of his chair, a growl sounding deep in his chest. There was a tattoo on his forehead. It was simple, homemade-looking: HATE.

  Luke became aware that everyone in the audience was looking at him sympathetically. But no one would come to his aid.

  Someone probably had a cell phone, Luke hoped. Maybe the police would arrive in time.

  Quentin wiggled a finger. The skinhead stayed where he was, poised for attack.

  “Or,” Quentin said, “there is one other solution. Right, boys?” There was a beat of silence. “RIGHT, boys?”

  The skinheads murmured sullen agreement.

  “Mandy,” Quentin said.

  “No.” Luke went rigid. He cursed himself. If he hadn’t been such an idiot—

  “If she wants to keep you out of the loving clutches of my hair-challenged friends here—”

  “No,” said Luke. “Leave Mandy out of it.”

  Mandy stood up. She shot Luke a furious look. “I’m right here. And I will do whatever I want. You’re not going to wrangle over me like two dogs over a bone.” She faced Quentin. “What do you want? Spit it out.”

  “I want you to come sit next to me.” Quentin spread his hands innocently. “That’s all. Just for the duration of this interesting meeting. After that, you do what you want, with whoever you want.”

  “You bet I will,” Mandy growled.

  The skinhead with the HATE tattoo slumped heavily back in his chair, disappointed.

  Mandy started to sid
le out past Luke. But he couldn’t let her go.

  He had seen the triumphant light in Quentin’s eyes when Mandy agreed.

  He was planning something.

  If Mandy left him now, she wouldn’t be back. Luke knew it.

  Looking into her eyes, as thrilling and hard as sapphires, Luke also knew he could not stop her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mandy shoved past Luke. She was furious.

  Furious at Luke for blowing up and directing Quentin’s attention to them again. Furious at everybody else for not doing anything. Furious most of all at Quentin and the skinheads for making normal people feel so helpless.

  She was bitterly afraid. For herself, but mostly for Luke.

  She walked the few steps down to Quentin’s row. “Move over,” she snapped. “I’m sitting on the aisle.”

  Quentin threw up his hands in mock supplication and slid over. His eyes traveled over her body. Mandy shuddered with revulsion and pressed her knees tightly together as she sat.

  Quentin leaned close. “I love how you look in shorts,” he whispered. “They leave so little to the imagination.”

  His breath was both hot and cold against Mandy’s ear. She tasted bile in the back of her throat. Goose bumps rose up on her bare legs.

  “I don’t see why one young lady should have you all to herself.” The low, throaty voice came from a woman Mandy had noticed earlier, lounging against the wall.

  Now, she pushed herself off the wall and sauntered toward them. She was striking-looking with her jet black hair and full, perfect lips. She didn’t look much older than Mandy. But still a world apart.

  The woman edged gracefully into the row and eased into the seat on Quentin’s other side. “I’ll just sit right here,” she said in a voice like velvet.

  Quentin was clearly displeased, but he didn’t protest. Mandy’s goose bumps subsided. Her stomach settled back into place.

  “Please go on, Mr. Smith,” the woman said, raising her voice only slightly. “I know we’re all eager to hear your presentation. And I don’t believe you’ll be disturbed again.”

  Her voice was smooth, with a hint of threat. “Will he?” she asked, inclining her head toward Quentin.

  “No,” Quentin answered sourly. “No more disturbances.”

  Mandy heard shifting in the rows behind her, but no one said a word.

  She looked up at Mr. Smith. He licked his lips nervously and fiddled with his ponytail. “Ah, yes, as I was saying. Our group, Alien Watch, has detected activity in your area.”

  His eyes darted to the back of the room. Mandy braced herself for more stamping, but nothing happened. Mr. Smith cleared his throat.

  “Indications include unexplained power surges, strange lights in the sky, and odd bursts of radioactivity. These things are measurable.”

  With an attentive audience, Smith gained confidence. He pulled an easel forward. “As you can see from my maps, you are not alone. Alien activity has also been detected here, here, and here,” he said, using a pointer to indicate various places around the country.

  He moved to another easel and began tapping blurry smears of light, claiming these were alien spaceships. As he grew more excited, spittle flew from his mouth.

  Mandy felt disgusted and embarrassed for him. This was how rumors got started. Why was it people would rather believe the most fantastic absurdities than the logic of hard science?

  “It’s also likely there have been abductions.” Smith looked hard at the audience, caught up now in his passion. “Some of you have probably been abducted,” he continued, the words tumbling out. “You may not know you’ve been abducted. You may know only that your sleep is disturbed, your dreams strange and frightening. Others among you will be aware of missing time, or episodes of what you may pass off as sleepwalking. If you believe you’ve been abducted, come forward. Earth herself may depend on you.”

  Mentally, Mandy groaned. Luke, who had been twisting around every second to look at her, was now facing straight forward. Riveted.

  A woman rose. She wore an elaborate arrangement of scarves around her head. “The aliens pulled out all my hair, strand by strand,” she said breathlessly. She described an immense spaceship and two-headed aliens who were cloning humans from her hair.

  A wild-eyed man jumped up and told how aliens had taken over his mind and let him eat nothing but Jell-O for one month, then nothing but spinach for another.

  Several more people told stories of being abducted. The tales depressed Mandy. To stop them, she found herself standing up. Behind her, chairs creaked ominously. Several pairs of boots hit the floor. She saw Quentin’s hand come up and the activity stopped. There was silence all around her. Luke was looking at her curiously.

  “I have a question, Mr. Smith,” Mandy said crisply. “When people come to you and say they have been abducted, how do you know they are telling the truth?”

  “We do not expect people to supply proof, if that’s what you mean. But we know the truth when we hear it.”

  “I see. And what do you do for these people?” Mandy asked. “How do you help them?”

  Mr. Smith frowned. “It’s they who help, by coming forward. The more abductees who speak out, the more chance we have of being heard and believed. Only when the aliens are exposed will Earth be safe.”

  “I see.” Mandy sat down.

  Quentin leaned close. “No one can help you, Mandy,” he whispered. “No one but me.”

  Mandy was sick of Quentin. A flare of anger burst in her head. She whipped around. “You—”

  But the black-haired woman was looking at her with such sorrow, such pity, that Mandy’s words died forgotten in her throat. She jumped from her chair.

  “Luke,” she cried. “I’m leaving.”

  Without waiting to see if he would come, she headed for the door. But she’d forgotten the skinheads.

  They stood, shoulder to shoulder, jamming the door. They watched her with detached but avid interest.

  Mandy noticed that one of them had an arm paler and thinner than his other arm. She flashed back to her mother’s story about the abusive jerk whose broken arm had mended so miraculously. This had to be him.

  For some reason this frightened her more than their obvious eagerness to have some fun with her.

  Mandy stopped abruptly, facing them. Luke touched her arm and moved in front of her. Terror electrified her. Again she remembered seeing his head roll at her feet in the dust. A hallucination, but so real.

  Before Mandy could stop Luke from putting himself in danger, the velvety voice spoke over her shoulder. “Play nice, boys. It’s time to leave.”

  The dark-haired woman sailed implacably forward. She passed Luke and Mandy. Her deep-set eyes were focused on some distant point. Mandy watched in fascination.

  The skinheads shifted uneasily. The human barrier rippled, swayed.

  Mandy flinched as Quentin shoved past her, brushing her breast with his arm. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  “Come on, guys,” he said breezily.

  The skinheads turned on their heels. They drained out of the doorway like water out of a funnel.

  The woman’s gait had never faltered. She missed treading on the last one’s heel by a hair.

  Mandy gulped down breaths of fresh air as she and Luke exited the building. Of course, they still had to make it out of the parking lot.

  Ahead of them, the elegant woman slowed. “I am Cassandra,” she said as Luke and Mandy drew even with her. There was banked fire in her dark eyes.

  “Hi,” Luke responded. “I’m—”

  “I know who you are,” she said, cutting him off. “Listen carefully. Time is short.”

  Beyond, Mandy caught a sharp movement. Quentin had seen them. He had his arm around that skinhead girl. He started across the parking lot toward them.

  “Next time,” Cassandra advised, her eyes flicking intently between Luke and Mandy, “pretend you are asleep. It is the only way to stay conscious. Keep your eyes c
losed and hold your breath for the first thirty seconds after you are lifted. Then breathe as evenly as you can. It is too late for me, but you can still be saved.”

  She looked over her shoulder at Quentin’s approach. “DO NOT OPEN YOUR EYES UNTIL YOU ARE INSIDE THE SHIP!”

  “What—”

  The woman turned away. She began fumbling in her purse for something, in a hurry. Car keys appeared in her hand. And another Mars bar.

  “Cass,” Quentin called, “can I walk you to your car?”

  The woman strode past Quentin without answering. She opened the door of the silvery sports car and tore the wrapper off the candy bar.

  As she slid into the car, she stuffed the candy bar into her mouth. When she noticed Mandy staring, she rolled down the window. Her perfect mouth was smeared with chocolate.

  “Isn’t it wonderful,” she said with a cackling laugh. “I can eat anything I want and never gain an ounce. HA HA HA HA!”

  Still cackling at the top of her lungs, Cassandra threw the car into gear and zoomed off.

  “Oh, gross,” Luke said.

  Mandy realized he was looking at Quentin.

  Although Quentin’s arm was around the skinhead girl, his eyes were fastened on Luke and Mandy. His long tongue was protruding from his mouth like a writhing snake.

  When Quentin saw he had Mandy’s attention, he whipped his tongue around behind the head of the skinhead girl. Delicately, he inserted the wiggly tip in her ear.

  The girl inclined her head and giggled, her black-painted mouth opening like a gash in her face.

  “Yes, Quentin, anything you say,” she cried, although Quentin hadn’t spoken.

  Her throat closing, Mandy grabbed Luke’s hand.

  They turned and ran, Quentin’s braying laughter echoing in their ears.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I told my parents I was sleeping at Sue Ellen’s,” Mandy said as she met Luke on the corner at the end of her street at nine-thirty that night.

  She was wearing baggy coveralls and had her hair pulled back in a scrunchie. “So I don’t know what I’m going to do all night.”

  “You can sleep on the couch in my basement,” Luke said.

  “Won’t your parents mind?”