“All right, Tom. Thanks for…”
“I just wanna say it’s out there. The critter people have been talkin’ about. It’s out there. I seen it!”
“Okay, okay,” Lloyd smiled, his straight, white teeth glistening. “Thanks, Tom. Yeah, we know it’s out there. The phone lines are jammed with callers who want to report their sightings. So let’s go now to…who is this?”
“This is Abigail, Abigail Beauregard, and I saw one of those little devils. Came running right through my property with that Ben James character. But it wasn’t the one that last man described. It had green marks below its eyes, all right, but this was all one color, kind of dark orange and dirty, like a muddy sock.”
Amelia and Ayita once again exchanged shrugs, both of them whispering, ‘Pud.’
Lloyd sat straighter. “What? This is news. We’ve got at least two of these things out there. And one was with Ben James? What is going on?”
“I can’t tell you, but I can speculate,” Mrs. Beauregard said. “I think it has something to do with that infernal contraption Ben James built. I’ve heard the man. He keeps prattling on and on about different dimensions. Well, I think he actually did it, broke through right there in Winmart and caused a split between this reality and some other place where teddy bears come to life. That’s my take.”
“Okay,” Lloyd snickered. “Now we’re getting a little out there, don’t you think? I mean creatures from other dimensions? All right, let’s go to the next caller. Hello? What’s your name and where are you?”
“My name’s Donna. I live in North Point,” a woman said over the sounds of excited children in the background.
“Hello, Donna. I hear you saw the creature on your own back porch?”
“That’s right,” she cleared her throat, then it sounded as if she cupped the telephone and yelled at the kids to quiet down. They didn’t. “We’re having a birthday party today, and boy did we just get the scare of a lifetime.”
“Scare? What do you mean?”
“Yeah,” she paused, her breathing stifled. “I’m sorry. We’re just a little freaked out right now.”
“That’s okay, Donna. Tell us what—wait, I’m being told you shot some video and sent us a link.”
“Yeah, I did. I got it on video, yeah.”
“My, the wonders of modern technology. Well, Marty, roll the footage.”
Amelia heard the sound of fast approaching footsteps. The news reporter and cameraman hurried into the van to watch the monitors. The screens showed the blurry, misaligned image of a sliding glass door. A small hand, presumably a child, pulled it open, allowing the wind to catch the yellowish curtain, and exposing a large tree in the backyard.
A girl screamed. The camera zoomed in too far, blackening the screen. Then a flash of something dark, moving fast. More screaming. The camera zoomed out to catch Cheyton darting from behind a recycling bin toward the fence. It seemed he’d heard the children’s cries, and for a brief moment glanced over his shoulder at the camera. His expression didn’t change. Cold. Emotionless. Determined.
The woman holding the camera squealed and squirmed, losing Cheyton in the frame. When she regained the shot, he’d gone. The children continued to wail in hysterics.
The TV screen switched to Lloyd. He sat, glasses in hand, jaw wide. Someone off camera yelled at him. He straightened and cleared his throat.
“Well,” he cleared his throat again. “I-I don’t know what to say…”
“I do,” Kristy’s voice overrode Lloyd’s. “I say we get to North Point right this second.”
The cameraman disagreed. “You heard the boss. We have to get back to the studio, pronto.”
“Hank,” she pointed to the screen. “You saw what I saw. This could be our big chance! This story’s gonna go national, worldwide probably. And we’ll be the ones to break it. Think of it, your footage, seen all over the globe. Every TV station, every cable and satellite news agency, not to mention the internet. Imagine your video going viral. Millions and millions of people seeing your work! This’ll open all kinds of doors for you.”
“And you?”
“Of course. This is the kind of story that makes a career. I say we go for it.”
Hank eyed her up and down. Then he smiled. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
“You won’t regret this, Hank. I mean, what’s the worst they can do?”
“They can fire us.”
She paused, staring at him. “It’s worth it.”
Hank hopped out the back of the van and began stowing away gear, starting with his camera, which he placed on a shelf with several others. Then he busied himself with hanging cable spools while Kristy got into the passenger seat and studied her notes—writing, scribbling, writing some more.
Amelia felt something hit her foot.
“What the..?”
“Huh?” Kristy didn’t pay much attention.
“Who are you!”
“What? Who?” Kristy looked up.
Amelia’s stomach shrank. Afraid to move, her eyes drifted to Hank’s. He stood over her, pointing down.
“Her!” he announced.
Behind Hank’s shoulder, Amelia saw Ayita poised on a top shelf, ready to attack.
FORTY-SIX
WHEN THE OFFICER FIRED the stun gun, Ben figured he’d be zapped by fifty-thousand volts of electro-muscular disruption. He saw the barbs fly at him. Too fast for him to dodge out of the way. Too powerful to be stopped.
Yet they did stop. The Taser’s wire tethers froze in midair—crackling, glowing sparklers suspended in time. The officer who’d shot at him seemed stuck in a catatonic state. The other cops stood motionless, too, scowling, pointing their guns.
“What did you do?” Pud hadn’t been affected by the time freeze.
“I-I don’t know. I just asked it to stop the police.”
“Well it stopped them, all right!”
“Yeah,” he turned his machine over, then upright again. “I guess it did. It actually worked.”
“How’d you do it? How’d you get it to work this time?”
Ben blinked rapidly. “It’s funny. I tried what Jack said. I asked it for what I wanted, imagined it, essentially.”
“An imagination machine,” Pud got close and stared at the O/A. “Far out!”
Ben shared his reverence. “Yes. It is, isn’t it? And to think. I invented it.”
Pud patted his belly. “Yeah, well if you can imagine anything and it becomes real, how about some pizza? Pepperoni and Italian salami, please.”
Ben laughed. “I don’t think it works like that.”
“What! Why not?”
“It just doesn’t. I don’t know why it works the way it does. All I can tell you is that it can only be used for good, for helping and protecting.”
“Uh, Ben?”
“And it’s a good thing, too. Because a machine like this shouldn’t be used for selfish reasons.”
“Ben?”
“Just imagine if it could be used for evil. What a nightmare.”
“Ben!”
“It’s a great thing that this can only be used for good. It’s way too powerful to be…”
“BEN!” Pud had to resort to socking him in the thigh.
“Ow! What’s wrong?” he rubbed his leg.
“That!” Pud pointed at the stun gun probes. Still in suspended animation, they lurched forward. First a few millimeters, then a half inch, an inch, then two.
“Oh shoot! Oh shoot!” Ben fumbled with his invention. “I need to use more power, but I’m afraid of going above the lowest setting!”
“Ben! We have to go!”
“But the effects are wearing off!” he yelled as they hurried to the front door.
Behind them he heard crackling. He turned in time to see the Taser’s sparkling probes snap into motion, becoming an instant streak in the air. They stuck to his mother’s favorite wall painting—an ocean scene with a pair of dolphins and an orca. At the same time, each cop came back to lif
e, blinking and stumbling for balance.
“Where’d he go!” the officer examined his stun gun, wrinkling in confusion. Then he saw Ben and pointed. “There he is! He’s getting away!”
“Hold on! I can do this,” Ben eased his hand above the O/A. It lit up with violet luminescence. He pressed the interface once, then once more.
“There!” he announced. Pud took his hand and led him down the steps to the driveway, the O/A pulsing rhythmically. He felt the fluctuation level increasing, going beyond his own limitations. The assault on his awareness was already beginning, the chain reaction leading to the inevitable catastrophe.
He heard the police screaming to stop. He did, but not on their account. The O/A forced him to. His thoughts raced. Too much, too fast. Innumerable alternate realities branched in all directions, a vast, cosmic blueprint laid out before him in an omnidimensional hyperscape. No way would he be able to wrap his mind around the complexity. He stumbled and landed behind a squad car, sitting with his back to the rear tire. Pud scurried next to him.
The ground became an ocean swell. Dogs barked. Down the street, a car alarm went off. Shrill electronic beeping and whistling. Even that was drowned out by the screams of the police.
“Drop the weapon! Drop it, now!”
Ben felt another quake, this time stronger. Pud gave him a worried frown. Ben put his hand on the O/A, tapping once then pressing and holding. The power-down command didn’t work. The machine continued to hum and chirp, its substructure whirring with intricate patterns and shapes, showing no signs of stopping.
“Hold it right there!” an officer stood above them, his Glock pointed, a smirk of gratification on his lips. “Don’t move!”
Pud growled and leapt on the cop’s hands.
CRACK!
The gun fired. The bullet ricocheted off the concrete driveway. Ben flinched, afraid Pud had been hit. He hadn’t. The little creature straddled the officer’s wrists and snatched the pistol away with his teeth, spitting it into Ben’s mom’s prize azaleas.
He felt the O/A fluctuate even higher, the sensation becoming far too much to bear. He wouldn’t let the machine go, though. Somehow it had to be shut down.
“Turn…that…thing…off!” Pud crawled toward him.
“I’m trying!”
Pud clung to him. The terrain warped harder than ever. The squad car jolted and slid. A terrible gaping sound percolated deep under them, erupting into a giant, yawning hole. Lawn gnomes and grass and dirt tumbled into the great chasm as it opened wide enough to swallow the cruiser, which it did.
The vehicle dipped left, tilting on its side. It slipped to the edge, creaking and groaning. Another tremor and the wheels jarred loose, sending it toppling into the expanding abyss.
Sliding, Ben realized he’d be the next victim of the bottomless pit if he didn’t act now.
“Here!” Pud reached for him. Ben took hold of the miniature hand and the furry little fellow tugged him away from the hole. He was stunned at Pud’s strength. Jack was telling the truth. The Tanakee did have amazing abilities.
“Oh, please!” Ben cupped the O/A in his hands. “Please, turn off! Please stop!”
The O/A responded. The earth stopped rolling. The gigantic hole in the driveway quit growing. The hurricane force winds died down. The police clinging to the cliff were able to pull themselves to safety. Pud seemed all right. Dust saturated his fur, he fought to regain his breath, but he was fine.
AS BEN COLLAPSED to the grass, a small gathering of neighbors filtered into the street, murmuring. They stared at his parent’s residence, shutters dangling, glass shattered, bricks missing from the chimney. They also gawked at the gulf in the front yard, assessing its curb appeal, no doubt. Mostly, they fixed on something happening behind him, close to the house.
“Stevens! Stevens, say something! Officer down! Officer down!”
The entire police contingent huddled over one of their own, a uniformed man on his side.
“What happened?” one of the neighbors asked.
Someone else answered. “The bullet! It must have ricocheted off the ground and hit him in the neck! He’s bleeding bad!”
“What?” Ben sat up. “No!”
He scrambled to his feet and already felt the O/A’s strange and powerful pull, a magnetic attraction tugging him to the officer lying in a pool of his own blood. The other cops offered no resistance. They all seemed mesmerized by the dazzling spectacle.
Stevens stirred, twitching his legs and arms. Then the most curious thing happened. The blood began to shimmer. It reminded Ben of the Quantum Foam he’d developed for the O/A, how it seemed to burst with myriad reflective particles. The blood stopped gushing and funneled back toward Stevens, traveling up his arm, shoulder, neck, entering the bullet wound, a thin crimson line sparkling and snaking into his carotid artery.
Then the machine’s humming and internal spinning expired. Its lustrous shell darkened, leaving Ben feeling a bit let down by the subdued colors and sounds of normal reality.
Stevens blinked, turning his head to the officers crouched next to him.
“Wha—what’s going on?” he sounded dazed. “Where am I?”
“Just take it easy, guy,” an officer patted his shoulder. A siren wailed. “There’s the medevac. We’ll get you outta here real soon.”
The ambulance squealed around the block. It had to slow for the crowd scattered throughout the street. Behind it sped another police car, blues and reds spinning, warning bursts blaring. The ambulance skidded to a stop and two EMT’s jumped out. Simultaneously, Chief Sillay rushed from his cruiser.
“What’s his status?” he pointed to Stevens.
“He’s fine, Chief. He’s gonna be just fine.”
“Good,” he strode and tackled Ben to the ground, driving a knee into his neck.
“Ow!” Ben was in instant agony. He dropped his invention.
“Chief! What are you doing!” more than one officer yelled.
“This man is a fugitive from the law! He’s under arrest!”
A shared groan of disapproval rolled through the gathering. Some people’s voices rose above the clamor.
“Leave that man alone!”
“Can’t you see he helped that poor police officer!”
“Let him go!”
One cop ran to catch his boss. “Hey, Chief! Listen, I know it’s hard to believe, but you know that stuff we’ve been hearing about this guy and his machine? It’s all true. He’s not a threat to the community. In fact he’s probably the exact opposite.”
“Lieutenant Platt, I don’t want to hear it!” the chief shoved Ben despite a chorus of boos and hisses. “Back off!” he commanded. “Everybody just go home, you do not have a permit for this assembly!”
“I don’t need a permit to stand in my own front yard,” a lady in curlers held her hips, daring him to defy her. Voices bustled in agreement.
“There’s nothing else to see here! Just let us do our jobs and go back to your homes!” the chief carried on with his arrest procedure.
“But, Chief, please!” Ben begged. “What about Pud? I can’t leave Pud!”
“What on earth is a Pud?” the chief scowled.
“It’s, it’s…” Ben noticed something in the tree above. He pointed. “Him!”
The chief looked skyward just when Pud dropped onto him. He released his grip on Ben and seized his cranium, trying to pry Pud loose. The little creature held tight.
“Run Ben! Hurry!” Pud hollered.
“Come on!” someone helped him stand straight. “Let’s go!”
The crowd parted. Ben hesitated, glancing back. Pud was still affixed to the chief’s scalp.
“Get outta here!” Platt put the O/A in his pocket, then unlocked the handcuffs. “Just go!”
“Mr. James, come on!” an anonymous helper tugged at his orange inmate shirt, leading him through a yard adorned with gnomes and plywood cutouts painted to resemble old women bent over in the garden. Running under a pergola, he
hit a low-hanging wind chime. The bamboo clucked and clacked.
Then he stopped.
Catching his breath, Ben studied his helper more closely, recognizing the thick glasses, the unkempt hair, the ever-present suspenders and bow tie. He felt stupid for not seeing it sooner.
“Walter!” he cried. “I didn’t recognize you without your…” he hesitated.
The young man blushed. “You can say it. Zits, pimples, whiteheads, pizza face.”
“Uh, yeah,” Ben studied his skin. “But, how?”
“You should know. You did it.”
“I did? Oh,” Ben tapped his pocket. “The O/A.”
“There’s no other explanation. I’ve taken everything, and I mean everything to get rid of my acne. Then, after that night in the Loo Wit room, it all changed. You did it, Mister James. Your machine works. And I was there when you made the breakthrough.”
“Yeah, well don’t celebrate too soon. It might work, but I still don’t have a firm handle on its operation. Can’t even get the thing out of level one without ripping a hole in the ground. Who knows if it will ever be used to its fullest potential.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Ben James I know,” Walter maintained eye contact. “The Ben James I know would see every new experience as a learning one, good or bad. And he’d get better each time he tried.”
Ben stood at attention, drawing a deep, sharp breath. “Walter, you’re right. No mistakes, only breakthroughs. What was I thinking? There’s no time for negativity. The O/A will work. It has to. It’s my only hope to get my family back,” he laughed. “Funny. First, the machine tears my family apart. Now, it’s the only thing that can bring us together.”
He followed Walter into a large family room.
“Here,” Walter tossed him a pile of folded clothes and a pair of shoes and socks. “Put these on.”
It felt good for him to get out of those stiff, gaudy jail-issue togs. They smelled bad and gave him a rash on his elbows.
“I really appreciate this,” he examined himself. His feet were swimming, the slacks nearly fell off his size 32 waist, and the shirt sagged over the shoulders. “Even if things don’t fit too well.”
Jack James and the Tribe of the Teddy Bear Page 32
