“No, no, please join me.” He led her over to the cocktail area where plush green and white striped outdoor chairs were strewn about. The area could hardly be called intimate as it appeared spacious enough to hold a reception for a hundred people.
Sitting down, she held up an empty Baccarat crystal glass, plucked off the outdoor sideboard. The captain hastened to fill it for her. She held the crystal, twirling it in the waning late afternoon sun, absently noting the similarity to Echo’s antlers.
There had been a time when they had counted themselves lucky to have plastic glasses, and if colored all the better. The colored ones hid the scratches which collected on the cheap plastic. She shook her head imperceptibly as she waited for her wine to breathe, reflecting on the grandeur and glamour of the new life which had just been handed to them. Was she dreaming? Just the mere fact that she even knew red wine must breathe, startled her. Nothing about her new life felt real.
“Hope a Pinot Noir is okay.”
Nodding, Abby took a sip, eyeing him over her glass. Captain Cobby struck a rather handsome appearance, in an exciting, older, virile Italian kind of way. It must be the thick, dark, curly hair, she thought, forgetting that Jose used to have thick, dark, curly hair. They sat together, neither speaking, letting the lapping of gentle waves against the hull weave a calm and intimate ambience around them. Breaking their companionable silence, she asked, “Is Kane around tonight?”
“I’m disappointed. I hoped you were here to visit me.” Laughing, he gave her a quick wink.
“I am here to see you, Captain, I just didn’t want our conversation overheard.”
Leaning back in his chair, he nodded his head slowly, rubbing his strong weather-beaten hand across his closely cropped beard. He gently set down his wine glass, crossed his tanned arms and looked at her without a trace of humor.
“Is this about my son?”
Taken aback by his quick change of tone, Abby decided to tread softly. “Yes, Captain. I just hoped you and I can do something to bring the boys together, before any blood flies.”
Relaxing a bit, the captain adopted a low confidential tone. “Kane has not had an easy go of it in life, Abby. His mother kept me from seeing him, then took off for God knows where. He lived with the notion I was dead. I did my best to find them, but my job on the water was not conducive to raising a child. I gave up pretty easily. When he turned ten, she suddenly showed up to dump the boy with me. You can imagine how it went from there. It’s taken me a long time to get Kane to this point. He has a chip on his shoulder because he feels he wasn’t wanted. He knows differently, now. But he’ll always be that ten-year-old boy who was dumped with a stranger because his mother didn’t want him anymore; a mother who betrayed him with a lie for ten years. We’ve not heard from her since.”
Smiling gently, the captain looked deeply into her eyes. “Can I dare to ask you to cut him some slack and let the boys work it out themselves? I promise I’ll guide him as much as I can without interfering.”
Nodding, Abby stood up, extending her hands to clasp both of his. “I understand, Captain Cobby. I truly do. Scotty’s upbringing was not that different from Kane’s. Maybe if they each knew that, things would be easier for them. I’ll leave the matter with you, after I have a talk with Scotty. Thank you for your time.” With that, she released his hands, smiling as he tipped his glass to her in agreement.
Before leaving, Abby filled in a few details of Scotty’s loveless relationship with his father and their parents’ subsequent divorce. Comfortable with their understanding, Abby allowed the captain to give her a hand across the plank to the dock. With a grateful smile and wave, she walked back to the house, the moon guiding her path. She marveled at how everyone seemed to have a story of strife and pain. She wasn’t the only one. Feeling refreshed, she began to look forward to Jose’s return with Mama Diaz and the girls.
That night, Abby’s restlessness fought against her desire to sleep. She opened her eyes, noticing it was past midnight. The moon made her uneasy, a quiet crescent gazing into her bedroom window like a peeping Tom hoping to catch her unaware. The shadows of the palm trees, backlit and morphing the yard into an eerie vista of lurking creatures, unnerved her.
Why couldn’t she settle down? Her glance lingered on Jose’s empty spot in the bed. She leaned over, breathing in the familiar musky smell of his fur, finding it reassuring. Rolling back to her side of the bed, she wrapped her hands around the cool cotton sheet, drawing it under her chin as she scrunched herself into a fetal position, her mind flashing a kaleidoscope of memories, hoping to latch onto a soothing one to lull her to sleep. Feeling her budding wings cramp underneath her, she gave up.
Rising, she shambled over to the windows, her sleeplessness leaving her feeling drugged and lethargic. Rubbing her temples and shaking out her wings, she flexed her tail. Perhaps my sleeplessness has something to do with my mind’s unconscious attempt to avoid reliving the recurring nightmare I’ve been having for weeks? The memory of the nightmare sent shivers down her evolving backside, causing her tail to stir reflexively.
Without warning, she found herself reviewing the nightmare as she stood at the window fully awake. She observed herself standing in a deserted parking lot in front of an iron grill, bent and misshapen; the stanchions under which millions of children and adults passed in their quest to discover where the famous Bronx Zoo had once housed their favorite wild creatures. The stanchions no longer supported its proud sign. She scanned the soundless trees, denuded of life. They appeared as if they’d been flattened by a giant fist, pummeling them from the gray and wintry sky. She looked off to the blank horizon: the most famous skyline in the world—gone. Devastation. She felt the bitter cold seep through her golden fur, flakes of dirty brown snow slowly, soundlessly, covering her thick golden hair, even as she somehow knew it was the middle of summer.
She turned back to the ruined zoo, an irresistible compulsion. Without warning, she discovered herself floating over the crumbling exhibits on the zoo’s decimated grounds. Formerly home to the many innocent creatures which had found themselves captive to man’s misguided attempt to shape, control and destroy the lives of creatures he, in his hubris, thought belonged to him. The vacant exhibits all contained ominous piles of bleached bone ash. All that remained of some of the most exquisite, bio-diverse and marvelous creations ever granted the rights to this planet by their maker. And again . . . brutally and ignobly destroyed by man.
She could feel glacial tears freezing on her cheeks as her emotions remained oddly anesthetized. Finding herself descending to an exhibit, she read the signage proclaiming it to be the home of the magnificent Western Lowland Gorilla. The bitter irony was not lost on her, realizing their home never existed here. Sadly, home called from the vanished jungles and watery bais of Western Africa. These sentient gentle great apes were mothers and fathers, babies and youngsters: families. Just like Homo sapiens, for man was a great ape too. But better, of course. Man . . . the chosen one . . . he who shall inherit the Earth. And once again, she noted frightfully to herself, man destroyed.
Her eyes glazed as she noted the complete absence of color, life or warmth around her. The horizon was a palette of black and gray barrenness, benumbing ashen hopelessness and bone-crushing godforsaken loneliness. What had happened here? Such wanton destruction.
Abby struggled, a sudden crush of emotions coalescing, too much to bear. Trying to break the grip of the tableau, she panicked; instinctively calling for her mother, begging for her mother. Out of her mind with grief and loss, she confused the emotions in her nightmare with the unresolved heartbreak of her mother’s abrupt absence from her life. Here the nightmare always ended, leaving Abby a helpless wreck.
Without warning, Abby felt pulled away from the zoo. She beheld herself in a new and foreign environment, appearing to be a large cavern. Light shone, but the source eluded her. She felt neither warm nor cold. An enveloping layer of something soft and undulating, exuding a smell of organic dampness w
hich clung to the walls of the cavern. How could she smell if she were dreaming?
Further down the cavern, a golden glow approached: a figure. Abby caught her breath, an unexplained premonition sending goosebumps down her arms. The emerging figure formed into that of a woman.
The alluring vision glowed with the fine golden fur draping her body. Like Abby, she sported a long mature tail with a bulbous end floating languidly around her. Her golden-white hair reached, full and glossy, down her back. A pair of exquisite wings framed her statuesque figure. From her hairline, two graceful crystal horns emerged, swirling with silver and gold liquid. Her eyes sparkled with the colors of the rainbow. She smiled benevolently at Abby. With a start, Abby realized she looked familiar. She racked her memory, but could not place the lovely face.
“My dear, we have not met. You are here because you have much to do. We are relying on you. You must save those you can. Time is short. We had hoped to do things differently. Man has conspired, fatally, to abort our plans. We must react quickly. Gather the materials you need and do the best you can.”
“Madam, how am I to know what to do?”
Approaching Abby, the woman placed her hand on Abby’s shoulder as her right horn split and peeled back, releasing a drop of liquid, its color flashing and filling the cavern. The woman held out her other hand to receive the drop. Reaching up to Abby’s ear she placed it inside.
Disappearing, the flashing colors slowly faded as the drop moved deep into her ear. Abby’s eyes closed slowly. She blinked, her eyes closing again. They finally opened with a stoic acceptance of realized purpose and clarity.
“I understand completely. I hope to see you again soon,” Abby said. Taking Abby into her arms, the woman embraced her warmly.
“You will, my dear. Remember, you have Echo to aid you. I must send you back now.”
“Wait. Please, who are you? What shall I call you?” The vision began to recede. She found herself in her own bed, on the verge of waking. From a great distance, she heard the woman’s voice. “I was once known as Netty Doyle, my dear. You may call me Netty.”
Abby gently drifted into a deep sound slumber, the details of her dream dissipating. She slept soundly.
Chapter 3
Peter pulled his BMW away from the parking lot at Sarasota Airport. He waved to Jose, who stood in line for the security bus to the check-in counter. He was anxious to board a flight to Newark which would hopefully reunite him with what was left of his family.
Peter’s happiness for Scotty and Abby knew no bounds. He appreciated how long it had taken them to get this far. As he drove back into town, he observed the night life in Sarasota preparing to heat up as the party hour approached, crowds thickening on the streets. Peter had sampled very little of it, even though the venues of bars and eateries were made to order for a single man.
Some of the most predatory and beautiful women in the country flocked to Sarasota, hoping to land themselves a wealthy husband. Those were the odds any self-respecting singleton would celebrate. Even though he could now call himself well off by most standards, he normally found himself reticent to join the nightly festivities of the crazy rich in this town, and which served as a bizarre escape from the reality of the rest of the country.
But tonight he wanted to flex his muscles. Perhaps his buoyant mood, inherited from Jose’s infectious happiness, portended a good omen. Taking a very deep breath, he decided: Tonight would be the night. He felt jazzed up and ready to go fishing for the ladies.
Driving down Main Street proved difficult. Traffic congestion continually hindered his efforts to find a parking place. By the time he found one, discouragement settled in, robbing him of his ebullient mood, which leaked out like a punctured tire. His reluctance to enter any of the most boisterous bars overwhelmed him. Forcing himself to suck it up, he timidly selected one which appeared more discreet and subdued.
As he entered the bar, he relaxed. The atmosphere appeared quiet and non-threatening, although clearly not the place most partiers wanted to be seen in. Definitely down scale. Oh well, it would do fine as a start for him. Scanning the bar, he noticed an empty stool between two other patrons. He started forward, but the stool was quickly taken by another man. As he stood in indecision, he noticed a couple of patrons giving him a quick once over, especially the woman. As his courage began to evaporate, one of the patrons stood up. A short dumpy man, he motioned toward him, offering his seat. Well, that was sure kind. Peter turned to thank him, but the man ducked his face down, hurrying out the door before Peter could even open his mouth.
Getting comfortable on the bar stool, he ordered a glass of wine, then glanced at his reflection in the back bar mirror. His face looked even wider and more owlish than usual. But the mirror failed to hide the quiet, clean-cut, timid man who was finally tired of being alone.
He sat, sulking about his lonely life, and ordered another glass of wine. A little liquid courage can’t hurt. As people were coming and going, he sat stiffly on his bar stool, unsure what to do next. Feeling discouraged, he felt a bump on the right side of his stool. A patron, the woman who had been staring at him, rose from her own stool, getting ready to leave. She suddenly dropped her purse. Attempting to assist as she bent to retrieve it, they banged heads.
“Ow.”
“Ouch.” Peter rubbed his head, looking up into the eyes of a pretty blond woman, seemingly a few years older than him. Her nose scrunched up as she laughed heartily at her own clumsiness.
“I’m sorry, that’s so typical of me. I’m rather clumsy. Are you okay?” She extended her hand to grip his arm, rubbing softly to reassure him, an intimate gesture. Touched, Peter hastened to assure her of his recovery.
“May I insist you allow me to buy you a cocktail? Just so I can assure myself you’re fine?”
Her smile was so lovely, her manner so charming, that he found himself instantly enticed. A pretty woman wants to buy me a drink. How do you like that?
When you least expect it, something special comes your way. Looking into her relaxed and friendly face, he felt no qualms about spending time with her. All traces of nervousness disappeared. He began to relax and enjoy himself.
As the evening wore on, they discovered they had much in common. they were both from small towns, both professionals. When she found out he was an attorney, she could not resist inquiring into his intent to sue her for the knot on his noggin. She made him laugh, something unfamiliar to him.
Peter shyly suggested they have dinner together. He wanted to do anything he could to prolong their time together. He just loved how her blond curls shook as she laughed at his lame jokes. What a doll, he thought, enjoying how the glow of the bar lights made her eyes sparkle.
They strolled down the street just like all the other happy couples, selecting a nice restaurant, then sharing savory lobster and excellent champagne, frugality forgotten. Her hand lingered on his as she made an occasional point. Peter found himself grinning and laughing so hard the muscles in his face ached.
Finally, they realized the night must end. Suggesting she walk him to his car, she pointed out the high-rise she lived in, within easy walking distance of the restaurant. After arriving at his BMW, he inquired as to whether he could call her for dinner again. Reaching into her purse, she scribbled her cell number, clearly pleased to be asked. Placing the note in his hand, she leaned over slowly, looked into his eyes and placed her lips over his for the softest kiss he swore he would ever feel.
“Goodnight, Peter. This was wonderful. I look forward to hearing from you very soon.” Turning, she disappeared into the crowd on the sidewalk.
In a daze, he drove back to Bird Key. Pulling into his driveway, he remained in the car, reliving and savoring the evening. He glowed. Could she be any more perfect? Looking down, he stroked the note she had given him, admiring her handwriting. Ginger Mae Shrute 914-555-0436. How cool is that? And off he went to bed, sleeping better than he had in years.
*
Ginger Mae walked quickl
y to the high-rise, not wanting Armoni to wait any longer than necessary. She knew he would be chewing his nails and spitting in anger because he had almost been caught when he had seen Peter walk into the bar, forcing him to make a hasty exit. They could not afford to have Peter recognize Armoni, even though they had only met briefly, months ago. Armoni knew he made an indelible impression on people.
She shook her head, amazed at the irony of the situation. Dining in elegant expensive bars and restaurants every night for months, trying to get a lead on Armoni’s enemies could easily have become a drag. But how else could they hope to run into them? Sooner or later, they would show up to eat. Their excellent plan to track them back to their house where Armoni could then reclaim his property had failed to produce results. Not so excellent after all. They hadn’t counted on the one night that they had decided to go to a normal, relaxed watering hole, this sudden opportunity would drop right into their laps. Armoni would be very pleased with her results.
She sighed, watching laughing couples pass her on the sidewalk, arm in arm, enjoying each other’s company, just as she had enjoyed Peter’s. She felt a longing for the unfamiliar life of an upstanding citizen. Wow, where did that come from? Have I gotten in over my head this time?
Her big plans for Armoni were slowly turning to ash. Sure, he had taken them to Florida, paying for everything, but he never let her out of his sight. That was not what she’d had in mind. And she could only handle his disgusting habits in small doses. She expected him to set her up in her own place, seeing her when he had the urge (she could handle that) and then get back to his life. But, it appeared, he had no life. As a matter of fact, he seemed to want to turn her into his life. Ugh. Not going to happen. She hoped that if she helped him recover his property, she could say goodbye and strike out on her own. The wealth and opportunity in Sarasota made her head spin. From the kind of men she met in the bars and clubs, she could clearly see that she and Daisy would be well able to fend on their own, without the odorous Armoni.
Alien Species Intervention: Books 1-3: An Alien Apocalyptic Saga (Species Intervention #6609) Page 39
