Chapter 49
Scotty was lying flat on his back atop some kind of padded examination table that had his arms positioned straight out, perpendicular to the rest of his body. He was prepared for this possibility. It was just one of the scenarios he’d trained for within a smart dunking simulation.
There were three men in the room, wearing identical dark-grey business suits and matching crew cuts. They introduced themselves as Steve, Bob, and Mike. Mike was in the process of strapping Scotty’s right arm down onto the extended arm support.
“You know that I’m here to help,” Scotty said.
Mike continued to fiddle, inserting one end of the thick leather strap into its adjoining buckle.
“Best not to speak unless spoken to, Mr. Sullivan,” Bob said, taking ahold of his left arm, beginning the process of securing it.
Steve, standing by Scotty’s feet, began securing his ankles with two attached straps.
“I’m just letting you know, before you invest too much time in all this rigmarole, that I won’t allow you to do whatever it is you’re planning on doing to me.”
“Is that right?” Mike asked, his face exhibiting an I’ve heard all that before expression.
Scotty was neither annoyed nor angry, he’d prepared for this, though he’d hoped it could be avoided. He waited for his four limbs to be secured to the table, “Is that it? You done?” he asked Mike.
Mike nodded.
Steve had momentarily left the room, but he was back now, maneuvering a waist-high metal tray on rollers into the room. Atop it was an assortment of sharp-looking metal instruments. It was high time to dispense with this colossal waste of energy. Scotty would enjoy watching their expressions as he transformed into his energetic state.
Ouch! What the hell … like a bee sting. Scotty wanted to rub the burring spot on the side of his neck, but his arms were too tightly secured. He turned his head to see who was standing just out of his field of view. It was Bob. He was smiling, holding up a hypodermic needle for him to see.
“Sorry, stung a little, huh?”
Scotty tried to answer him. Tried to convey back some glib verbal response, but the simple task of properly repositioning his tongue, activating his vocal cords, moving his lips—automatic sensory responses that normally came so readily to him—were now anything but easy. A slurred jumble of words escaped his mouth—sounds of total gibberish.
Bob, Mike, and Steve laughed out loud.
“Never gets old,” Mike said.
Scotty waited for his mind to grow hazy, for his eyelids to feel heavy and sleep overtake consciousness. But that wasn’t happening. In fact, his mental acuity was only getting sharper. Whatever drug Bob had administered seemed to be affecting his muscular system—also his mind. Feelings of dread, of hopelessness, were quickly infiltrating his psyche, dominating his every thought. He tried transforming into his energetic state again but couldn’t.
He watched as Mike studied the various metal instruments laying atop the metal tray. Mike wore an almost whimsical expression—like someone perusing an assortment of chocolates nestled inside one of those bright-red, heart-shaped, candy boxes. He slowly picked up a scalpel, probably the least interesting looking of all the instruments there. Scotty was conscious of his own quickly elevating heart rate as Mike stepped across to his right hand.
Mike said, “I have a few questions for you, my friend. Answer correctly, honestly, and you can avoid tremendous pain. Unfortunately, at this stage of things, you don’t really possess what we call a baseline. Something with which to make an accurate comparison. Scotty … prepare yourself. This is going to hurt. A lot!”
* * *
Alison was seated on a hard metal chair, one bolted into the concrete floor near her feet. She took in her sparse surroundings. An interrogation room, similar to several others she’d been in during her short career with the FBI. Two empty chairs were across from her on the other side of the metal table. Undoubtedly, the others, Brianna Sullivan and Donald Platt, were in custody nearby, probably seated in rooms just like this one. She glanced up, toward the opposing corner, where a camera with its red light glowing was positioned.
She thought back to the previous seven or eight hours. Alison should not have been surprised when a second team was also deployed to Nantucket Island—to the little apartment directly above the Stillworth’s Skiff. But instead of a few men in tactical gear appearing, it was six men and two women from her own agency—the FBI. It made sense her immediate supervisor, Donald Price, stationed in the Chelsea, Massachusetts FBI office, wasn’t part of the team. He obviously wasn’t aware of the planned raid. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was brought in for questioning too.
Although Brianna, Officer Platt, and Alison were not handcuffed, they were patted down and it was made clear to them that restraints would quickly be administered if they didn’t come willingly—without resistance. The agent in charge, a Ms. Bright, with a square jawline and boyish blond haircut, instructed her team to just leave the dog behind. Let it run loose outside. But Brianna spoke up, telling her the dog arrived with Scotty. Brianna glanced skyward—tilted her head to one side in a dramatic fashion.” Do you really want this one particular dog wandering loose in the neighborhood? A dog that has been living with aliens for sixteen years?”
The three, who were now in custody, along with Larry on a short leash, were taken to the nearby Air Station Cape Cod—a Coast Guard base—where they boarded an awaiting C-130 J Super Hercules. Once onboard the ginormous air force plane, Alison saw Scotty, already situated forward. His arms and
legs were chained to the bulkhead and decking respectively, as if he were some kind of mass-murderer, and surrounded by the same heavily armed black ops team still outfitted in tactical gear.
Scotty watched the others board and then was guided over to a series of flip-down seats. Alison held his gaze, offering him her most reassuring smile. He smiled back, seeming surprisingly calm considering the situation. But what could they really do to him? Alison wondered. Scotty wasn’t normal. Wasn’t even entirely Human. But then Scotty hadn’t fared all that well against Platt’s big flashlight. Pushing aside her growing concern for the strange man, she recalled his physical reaction to her presence back in the hospital. The way he’d looked at her. And, if she was perfectly honest with herself, she too had felt something. She certainly didn’t believe in love at first sight—nothing like that. Of course not! Little more than a childish concept, anyway—one best left to cheap romance novels. Like those she’d read while vacationing at the beach of Martha’s Vineyard last year. But even so, she couldn’t deny what she was feeling. And she was surprised, too, at what little concern she felt for other areas in her life that only days earlier held foremost importance—namely, her career as an FBI agent. She’d always been focused, had never let relationships sidetrack her well-thought-out life plan. All those years in college preparing—the prerequisite classes in law enforcement, then the arduous time and energy spent training at Quantico.
Now, sitting alone at the interrogation table, Alison knew that life was going to be very different. Well, for her and for everyone else on the planet. Where she once thought that having the career of a lifetime, climbing the corporate ladder, was everything, now that seemed almost ludicrous, at least, compared to the simple fact that Earth, along with all its vulnerable inhabitants, was destined to become in a relatively short span of time, totally annihilated. She thought of Scotty again and wondered where he was. Then she heard—somewhere off in the distance—the desperate screams of a grown man.
Chapter 50
Scotty had never experienced such god-awful pain in his entire life. These men truly knew what they were doing. And they appeared to enjoy their work. He tried to swallow, but his throat was far too dry for that. Hot tears rolled down both sides of his face, while two rivers of snot dripped from his nose into his gaping, open mouth. His breath expelled in short fast gasps. Now hyperventilating, he felt dizzy and lightheaded—sick t
o his stomach.
Before his return to Earth, Seve reminded him that Humans had a great capacity for both kindness and cruelty. He was experiencing the latter in all its glory. It was during times like this that he wondered, why bother? Why bother saving a species so intent on being indifferent to another Human’s suffering?
Scotty tried not to look over at what Mike was doing to him. Tried not to listen to his monotone voice, giving him a detailed explanation of what he was doing with a sharp, curlicue-shaped instrument beneath the fingernail on his left hand’s little finger. Again, Scotty screamed in agony as Mike inserted the tip of the instrument a bit farther beneath the nail and began to twist it.
Mike waited for Scotty’s shrieks to subside, before saying, “Scotty … it is important for you to be perfectly honest with me, with all of us here. Do you agree?”
Scotty tried to nod his head in assent but found it difficult. He slurred the word, “Yeth.”
“Good. Now I’m going to ask you again. What are the true intentions of those Vallic aliens in space? What are their ulterior motives down here?” Mike angled his head slightly, focusing his eyes onto Scotty’s.
“No … ultherior … mothives,” Scotty replied, slurring his words again.
Mike nodded as he pursed his thin lips. “Did you know that beneath the thumbnail there are far more active nerve endings than there are beneath the pinkie finger’s nail?” He then tapped the pointy end of the curlicue instrument onto Scotty’s thumb several times—tap, tap, tap—to emphasize the point. “What do you say we move onto your thumb? Really get down to business.”
On the verge of passing out, Scotty noticed a sudden motion—a blurry movement coming from the direction of the door. Yet the door hadn’t opened. Typically, when the door opened he would see the florescent light fixture affixed near the hallway ceiling. But all he could see now was that the door was still closed. The blurry motion moved farther into the room: A knee-high, golden-colored, haze. Scotty rapidly blinked the moisture from his eyes. His focus cleared enough to see Larry’s goofy face staring up at him, wagging his tail. Again, Scotty’s eyes filled with moisture.
“What the fuck! Who let that mutt in here?” Mike yelled, angrily eyeing first Bob, then Steve. “Get it out of here! Then feel free to shoot the damn thing!”
Steve lurched forward with both hands extended out but still missed getting ahold of Larry. Bob lowered down onto his haunches, his arms widespread, ready to catch, or even tackle, the fast-approaching golden retriever. But all Bob managed to get ahold of was empty air as Larry transformed into his energetic state and ran right into and almost all the way through the government agent’s body. Then, just as quickly, Larry transformed back into his wonderful doginess self. Scotty watched as Larry quickly jiggled his hindquarters off to one side—a fast motion that pulled the end of his waving tail free and clear from inside Bob’s upper back. In a dramatic flash of red gore, blood and flesh whipped onto the nearest adjacent wall. Bob’s eyes momentarily widened in terror, just before he keeled over into a lifeless heap lying on the concrete floor.
Perhaps it was the emotional, welcoming effect of Larry’s sudden appearance within the confined space, or perhaps the drugs in his system had finally begun to sufficiently dissipate, but Scotty knew—even before attempting it—that he was fully capable of transforming himself into his Human-Vallic energetic state. He then proceeded to do just that, which allowed his wrists and ankles to pass through their bindings. Swinging his legs down to the floor, Scotty stepped away from the examination table. Larry, too, transformed—little more than a bluish-glow now, standing next to him, leaning against his side.
Both Steve and Mike froze—disbelieving what they just witnessed. Scotty was tempted to kill them both and considered doing just that. Instead, he said, “If I see you leave this room, I’ll kill you both. You won’t see it coming. You’ll be dead; like that mess, lying over there on the floor. Do you want to end up like Bob?”
They both shook their heads.
“Carefully now, hand over your phones, and any weapons you have on you,” Scotty demanded. “Put them on the table then take a few steps back.”
They both did as told.
Scotty picked up both iPhones and, one at a time, waved a nearly invisible hand through each device. He then tested both iPhones, attempted to power them on. Both were dead; he had used directed magnetic energy to compromise their internal circuitries. Next, he removed the magazines from both semi-automatic handguns. He recognized them—Glock 19’s—then checked each to make sure their chambers were clear.
Scotty had excellent familiarity with most weapons, both Vallic and Human, thanks to a portion of his DNA Inculcation Infusion, dunk learning, training, back on Hope. He closed his fingers around both magazines. As the two government agents watched, Scotty pushed his fist through the slump-stone wall—as easily as if it were an open window. When he extracted his hand, both magazines were gone—deposited within the wall.
Scotty glanced down at Larry, smiled, and gave him a couple of affectionate pats on his flank. Clearly there were a number things he didn’t know about this dog. He probably would never get the full story.
Together, they stepped through the blood-splattered wall and entered into a identically sized room on the other side. This one had a metal table at its center, with three metal chairs placed around it. One of the chairs was occupied by Special Agent Alison McGuire. Scotty’s breath caught in his chest. He felt his heart skip a beat. She was staring blankly ahead toward the opposite wall, wearing a faraway, almost wistful, expression on her face. He wondered what she was thinking about at that very moment.
“Alison?” he said softly.
She spun around, but he could tell she didn’t immediately see him. Scotty moved closer and she narrowed her eyes. “That’s really creepy … the way you can do that, sneak up on people … you know?”
“Sorry.”
“Was that you? Screaming bloody murder a few minutes ago? Are you all right?”
Scotty held up his left hand, transforming that bit of anatomy into Human physicality. A trickle of blood was still oozing underneath his fingernail.
Alison leaned forward. “Your little pinky? All that screaming over your pinky?”
“Well, you’d be surprised how much pain is involved when a sharp object is jammed underneath one’s fingernail,” he said defensively.
“How ‘bout you make the rest of yourself visible so I can see you?”
“Sure.” Scotty transformed himself into his fully Human form and smiled. Alison smiled too. He could tell she was happy to see him.
She stood up. “I guess you’re getting what you wanted … this is big. Do you know who I’ve been talking to in this room?”
“Nope.”
“The head of NASA. A guy recently put in charge of something called Space Force. I know it’s a really stupid name, but this guy, Borkner, reports directly to the President. Scotty, I don’t think he’s buying anything that you, or your alien friends up in space, are selling. He almost had me second guessing things too—that you really are who you say you are.”
“Who else would I be? Why would anyone put themselves through all this?” Scotty asked.
“He thinks this is all part of an alien invasion. A way to manipulate Humanity into surrendering their home planet.”
“Oh, come on! The science stands on its own, the fast-approaching gamma ray … it’s unequivocal. He should listen to his own people, his own scientists.”
“I don’t think he’s much of a science-minded guy. More paranoid than anything else,” she added.
“We can’t worry about that right now. When will he be back?”
“He stepped out to grab us a cup of coffee, maybe return a few phone calls, so I guess pretty soon. Look, Scotty, I have the feeling this guy wouldn’t hesitate making you just disappear.”
“I’m not worried about it,” Scotty said.
“Yeah, says the man who fell apart while having hi
s little pinkie tortured.”
Scotty ignored her comment.
“And your interrogators?” she asked, glancing at the wall he’d entered through.
“One is dead; the other two won’t be making any trouble.”
“Wait … you killed one of them?” she asked, a flash of anger in her eyes. “They’ll use that against you. It’ll prove you have nefarious intentions! It’ll play right into his paranoid theories. Paint you as one of the evil aliens.”
Scotty looked down. “It wasn’t me. Seems Larry here picked up a few tricks of his own over these past years. He was only trying to protect me, I’m sure.”
Only then did Alison notice Larry’s glowing form there at Scotty’s side. She shook her head, bewildered by it all. “No one’s going to believe that dog killed anyone.” She let out a breath, maintaining the same addled expression. “So, what now? You know, your mother’s in the room next to this one. I saw them lead her inside there.”
“That’s good to know; that’ll be my next stop,” Scotty said. “We’re all getting out of here. Guess I’ll need to find Platt, too.”
“Seriously, Scotty … where would we even go? And, in case you’ve forgotten, your mother and I can’t exactly walk through walls like you. Hell, Platt can barely walk through a door.”
“You won’t have to. And we won’t be going very far anyway.”
Chewing the inside of her lip, Alison was somewhere in her head. Then, she nodded, as if coming to some internal decision. She surprised him, taking another hesitant step forward and placing her open palm on his chest. She let it rest there a moment. Locking her eyes onto his, she said, “Listen, um … I don’t know what’s going on with me … why I can’t stop thinking about … certain things. Things I shouldn’t be thinking about, especially at a time like this.”
She was standing close enough now for Scotty to breathe in the sweet fragrance of her strawberry-scented shampoo. Close enough to see the dusting of small freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and the pretty flecks of gold within her large brown eyes.
Boy Gone Page 22
