“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
Before I have a chance to say anything else, she turns and marches away.
“I got a job!” I shout a little too enthusiastically.
The two customers in the gun shop glare at me. Gunner’s family’s store is rarely crowded, but there always seems to be a steady stream of sales throughout the day.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
Being in the shop always makes me feel uncomfortable. Like it’s foreign territory, and I’m an enemy intruder. Maybe they can sense that I’ve never held a weapon in my hands. I’m sure it’s painfully obvious I’m not a member of the NRA.
Once the buyers finish with their transactions and Gunner and I finally have a moment alone, he asks me about the interview.
“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.” I try to do a James Bond impression, but I fail miserably.
Gunner shakes his head. “This obviously isn’t an acting job we’re talking about.”
“They made me sign these confidentiality agreements and nondisclosure forms. Honestly, the whole thing kind of creeped me out a little.”
He raises an eyebrow. “A little or a lot?”
I heave a sigh. “You know me too well.”
“I know you better than you know yourself.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Seriously, what do they want you to do?”
“Let’s just say that the work they do is unorthodox.” To use Dr. Roth’s term.
“That’s a word that’s often linked with government intelligence services and their clandestine operations.”
I roll my eyes. “Do you relate everything back to one of your conspiracy theories?”
“How much do you really know about the Optimal Mind Institute?”
“Not a lot,” I admit.
“So it could be a front for an intelligence agency?”
“The place is strange—I’ll give you that. But the CIA? I don’t think so.”
“Maybe it’s the DIA. Or NSA. Or ISA.” He throws around an assortment of three-letter acronyms I’ve never heard of. “Anyone could work for a cover operation for one of our nation’s intelligence agencies and not even know it.”
“And how do you know your parents’ gun shop isn’t a cover for an intelligence agency? Maybe your parents aren’t really traveling to gun shows. Maybe they’re actually spies.”
“There’s no way to know, is there? That’s why they call them clandestine operations.”
Gunner’s parents are the last people on the plant I would ever guess were spies. They’re too antiestablishment and antigovernment. But that would be a great cover, wouldn’t it? And it would give them access to a lot of people on the fringes of society.
“If the place has you so freaked out, why did you take the job?”
“They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” I try to do a Godfather impression, but I end up sounding like a drunk pirate.
“You need to stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“The impersonations. You’re not good at all. You’re actually terrible at it.”
“When has being terrible at something ever stopped me from doing it?”
He laughs. “You have a point. I don’t think anyone in our class is ever going to forget your performance at the senior talent show. I was very close to phoning the paramedics. I thought you were having a seizure onstage.”
“Funny. It was interpretive dance.”
“What you were doing onstage was not dancing.”
“Do you want to grab a quick bite? You do get a break, don’t you?”
“Nice way to change the subject. Now that’s something you are good at.”
“It’s my treat. Wherever you want to go to eat. What do you say?”
“As if I could pass up a free meal. Just give me a minute to close the shop.”
He locks up the cabinets and the cash register, then steps out from behind the counter.
“I’m starving.” My stomach growls as if on cue.
“Working for the CIA is making you hungry.” He laughs at his lame attempt at humor.
“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”
“I’d wish you luck at your new job, but I know you don’t believe in it. So I’ll just say knock ’em dead. Not literally, of course.”
I wake up sweaty and disoriented. Even though I slept through the entire night, I feel exhausted. I reach for the horseshoe pendant that should be around my neck, but it’s not there.
That’s when the memory comes flooding back to me. The dream I had felt so real. He took the pendant. The man in my dreams.
He was young. Maybe in his midtwenties. And his hair was cut high and tight. Like they wear it in the military.
Maybe he was in the military. I remember he was wearing a soldier’s camouflage uniform. He seemed familiar, but I’m not sure why. I’ve never known anyone in the military.
Falcon. I remember seeing his name on his uniform. Was he the same guy who was eating animal crackers? Was that why he seemed so familiar to me?
I kept being drawn to his eyes because they were so blue. Not just the color, but also the emotion. There was so much sadness behind his baby blues. It was overwhelming.
When I noticed him standing in my bedroom, I wasn’t sure if I had woken up or if I was still dreaming. It felt so real. Like he was standing right beside my bed.
He told me not to be frightened. That he would never hurt me. He said he would always protect me. That’s what he was trained to do.
I felt confused by what he was saying and doing. But for some reason, I didn’t try to stop him.
Even when he leaned over and closed the distance between us, I didn’t feel threatened by him, and I wasn’t afraid. I felt like he was there to help me. That he really was trying to protect me.
Then he reached around my neck, unclasped the chain, and removed the pendant. He carefully placed it in his pocket.
“That’s mine,” I said. “Why did you take it?”
“You don’t need it,” he replied matter-of-factly. “That old folktale isn’t true. And it’s dangerous for you to wear it.”
“My mother gave it to me. I want it back.”
He shook his head. “No.”
Then I started to cry. The one thing that I felt connected me to my mother, and he took it from me.
When he swiped at one of the tears that had escaped down my cheek, his touch was much gentler than I expected. I was surprised when I didn’t pull away from him.
Being so close to him felt warm and comforting; I didn’t want to pull away.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered in my ear.
I sniffled. When I looked into his eyes, the tension in my nerve-racked body began to melt away. I felt like I was under some kind of trance.
Then the words on my mother’s note echoed in my head. Don’t trust the man of your dreams.
“You have to trust me,” he said as if he could read my thoughts.
“I’m not sure I can.”
Then he disappeared. Just as quickly as he had arrived in my room out of nowhere, he vanished just the same.
As I wipe the sleep from my eyes, I try to make sense of what happened. Was it real, or was it a dream? I still can’t tell. It felt so real. But a person can’t just appear and disappear like that. Can he?
It had to be a dream.
But the horseshoe pendant isn’t around my neck. I know I was wearing it when I fell asleep. Maybe it got unclasped somehow during the night.
I jump out of bed and search for it. Under the pillow. In the sheets. I even flip my mattress over and check under my bed.
The pendant is nowhere to be found.
A soft knock on my bedroom door startles me.
“Jericho, are you up?” Delia asks as she cracks open the door.
“I’m up,” I reply.
“We don’t want you to be late for your first day of work.�
�
I glance at the clock on my dresser. It’s only a few minutes after seven. I still have plenty of time to get ready and get downtown before nine.
“What happened?” Delia points to my bed. The bedding and pillows are strewn everywhere.
“Rough night. I didn’t sleep very well.”
Her eyes immediately drop to my chest. “Why weren’t you wearing your pendant?”
I was, but a mysterious soldier appeared in my bedroom, took it from my neck, and then vanished. That sounds sane and rational. To my aunt, it would probably sound normal.
“I’m not sure where I left it,” I lie.
She narrows her gaze at me. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“You’re the psychic. If there is something, I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out.”
“How can someone so young already be so closed-minded and cynical?”
“Being raised by psychics will do that to you.”
She shakes her head. “Anya made you breakfast. Something special for your first day of work.” She places a kiss on my cheek. “We’re very proud of you.”
I want so badly to tell my aunts about my new job and all the strange things that have already happened, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy.
And if I do tell them, I might have to kill them. Gunner is right. I need to stop with the corny impressions.
Chapter Five
Cordia is a relatively small city compared to its neighbors to the north and south, Phoenix and Tucson. But it has one of the highest per-capita incomes in the country. The city’s downtown center reflects its citizens’ wealth and privilege.
Cordia doesn’t just have pizza places. It has organic, gluten-free, gourmet pizza that’s half the size and twice the price of a regular slice. Clothing can’t be bought from an ordinary store. It must be purchased from an exclusive boutique. And heaven help the poor newcomer who thinks he’ll be able to find a cup of regular black coffee anywhere downtown. That’s sacrilege to a Cordia resident. Caffeinated beverages must be laden with whipped cream, syrups, and spices to be taken seriously in this city.
It’s five minutes before nine. I’m circling the perfectly manicured town square, waiting for my first text message. Downtown is relatively quiet. Most of the scientists and engineers who work at the high-tech firms have to be at work by eight. And the Cordia University campus is deserted for the summer. Most of the students won’t be arriving for the fall term until mid-August.
I haven’t seen any sign of JoJo. Not that I was expecting to. If she saw me, she’d probably head in the opposite direction.
I didn’t see an off/on button for the body camera I’ve got around my neck. There’s no way for me to know whether it’s working or if it’s even turned on.
I’m wearing a plain white T-shirt and khaki shorts. It’s supposed to get close to a hundred degrees this afternoon. I figured if I’m going to be outside, I might as well be comfortable. And it’s not like they gave me any sort of an employee dress code.
I remove the cell phone they gave me from my pocket. Still two minutes before nine. My heart races, and I start to feel a little lightheaded. I’m getting nervous. Maybe it’s because I have no idea what they’re going to have me do. And I have no idea what the purpose of the experiment is.
When I feel a buzz, I expect it to be my work phone. Then I realize it’s my personal cell that’s vibrating. It’s a text from Gunner.
Break a leg.
I text him back a question mark.
It’s supposed to mean good luck. Theater people use the expression.
I’m not a theater person, I text back.
Just remember that the next time you feel the urge to do an impersonation.
Ha, ha, I text back with a smiley face.
I get a huge yellow smiley face in return.
When I feel another buzz, this time it really is my work phone. The text message says: Walk to Main Street. Turn left. Walk to the end of the block. Wait for further instructions.
My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it could beat right out of my chest. I take in a deep breath and try to calm down as I head toward Main Street. This is it. No turning back now. I’m officially part of the field experiment.
Once I’m at Main Street, I take a left and continue walking. The street is quiet. I pass an older man seated in an outdoor café, reading the paper. He glances up at me as I walk by, but I don’t seem to make much of an impression. His nose is back in his newspaper within seconds.
There’s not much activity other than that. Summers in Arizona are like winters everywhere else. People tend to stay inside in the air conditioning.
Then I get the strangest feeling. Like someone is following me. I stop in the middle of Main Street and turn around, but there’s no one behind me. There’s no one on the other side of the street either.
My work phone buzzes. There’s another text message.
That isn’t where you were told to stop.
Do I feel like someone is following me because of the camera around my neck? I had forgotten about it.
I continue down Main Street until I get to the end of the block. Then I stop. This time, I’m exactly where I was instructed to be.
Within a few seconds, I get another text message.
Turn left and go to the end of the block. Then make a right.
The instructions are taking me around the park. This is going to take a little bit longer than going down Main Street. But the view is much nicer.
There are a few little kids with their mothers, playing on the swings. For just a moment, I’m overcome with sadness and envy. I never got an opportunity to have experiences like that. Not just because I never knew my mother. My aunts were always working. Taking time off to go to a park would have been a luxury they couldn’t afford.
Not that there were any parks in Cordia before the tech boom. When I was a little kid, most of this area was still vacant desert.
As I continue walking down the street, the feeling of being followed completely overwhelms me. It’s like someone is standing right next to me, but when I turn to look, there’s no one in sight.
My chest constricts so tightly I strain to breathe. How can it feel like there’s someone right next to me when there’s no one there? How can my gut feeling be so disconnected from my perception? That’s never happened to me before. Usually, my gut instincts are right on the mark.
I don’t want to get scolded via text again, so I keep walking despite my desire to run as fast as I can away from whatever it is that seems to be stalking me.
When I make it to the end of the block, I turn right and then wait for more instructions.
The next text I get says: Enter the tall building across the street.
There’s only one tall building across the street. It’s a brand-new high-rise. They’re building expensive condos for the fresh-faced young employees the local tech firms recruit by the hundreds every year.
Once the pedestrian light turns green, I cross the street and enter the high rise. Then I wait.
Take the elevator to room 816 and enter, the next text tells me.
The elevators are right in front of me, so I push the call button. I glance around the lobby while I wait for the elevator doors to open. The interior of the building is upscale and ultramodern. Everything is brand new. It’s so new I can still smell the faint odor of fresh paint on the walls.
When the elevator finally opens, I step inside. But when the doors close, I panic. I feel like there’s someone in the elevator with me. It’s like there’s someone standing right next to me even though I’m the only person in the elevator.
How can it feel like there’s someone else occupying this small space with me when I’m the only person in the elevator? It completely defies logic. I grab the camera around my neck and stare into it. Maybe it’s not really a camera. Maybe there’s something else going on.
I pound on the button for the eighth floor. As if the gesture is somehow going to mak
e the elevator travel faster. For just a moment, it makes me feel better. It makes me feel like I have some control over my surroundings.
My heart is beating so fast I feel like I’ve run a marathon. I need to get out of this elevator. I need some fresh air.
Fortunately, the elevator doors pop back open quickly.
When I step out of the elevator and take in a deep breath, the smell of new carpet fills my nasal cavity.
I hurry down the hallway until I reach 816. I’m not sure why I knock. It’s obvious that the floor isn’t occupied yet. There are a few spots on the walls that aren’t completely covered with fresh paint yet.
The door is unlocked, so I step inside. Then I quickly shut the door behind me. And lock it. Maybe I can lock out whoever . . . or whatever . . . is following me.
The condo is fully furnished and decorated, like a sales model that real estate agents use to show prospective buyers what the home might look like once they’ve moved in. The décor is a little too shabby chic for my tastes. I’m sure it’s appealing to the more upwardly mobile millennial crowd.
I haven’t received any more text instructions yet, so I just stand there and wait.
Then I feel the presence again. Someone is in the condo with me. But this time, I can sense something about the person who is with me.
He’s a soldier. In uniform. And he’s standing right in front of me. Staring at me.
There isn’t anyone physically in the room with me, but it feels like he’s right there in front of me.
I’m alone and not alone at the same time.
I feel like I’m going crazy.
There’s a knife in the kitchen. Sitting next to a loaf of bread. Cut the bread with the knife.
Words echo in my head, but they’re not my own thoughts. Someone else is inside my mind. Trying to tell me what to do.
Is it him?
“No!” I yell much louder than I expect.
As if anyone has ever been able to tell me what to do. Okay, that’s a lie. People have tried to tell me what to do. I just never listened.
And I’m not about to start now.
The exact same words are repeated: There’s a knife in the kitchen. Sitting next to a loaf of bread. Cut the bread with the knife.
Alien Hunter Page 6
