Red Centre

by Ansel Gough

  MacKenzie stood on the veranda speaking to Chris. Pav sat on Frank’s wooden chair, his head between two hands, staring at the ground. MacKenzie took notes, as Chris explained the night of activity. Chris was animated, waving his arms around. Showing his blood-stained shirt, but his healed body.

  At times, the conversation was heated.

  MacKenzie shook his head in disbelief. It was hard for Mackenzie to understand the magnitude of the situation. There was no evidence. No proof of their story. He fired repeated questions over and over again at Chris and Pav.

  It was frustrating. The day dragged on. Reports were filled in.

  MacKenzie pointed his pen at Chris with a stern look of warning on his face. He paused for a moment, not sure where to take the conversation. Dropping his hand and then slipping the notepad into his top pocket. With two thumbs place inside the front of his pants he pulled them up around his belly, breathing in deeply.

  He scratched the side of his head with the back of his pen, visibly frustrated with the situation. Turning his back on Chris and Pav, he looked out into the yard at the other officers. “I’ll come back in a moment.” He stepped off the veranda and walked a small distance to contemplate the situation.

  ***

  A few minutes dragged by. MacKenzie returned to the veranda. “Frank and Roy are going to be charged with the kidnapping of the Baker family. They are considered fugitives and if they reach out to you, you’ll need to notify your local law enforcement. If you attempt to help them in any way or not report any contact, you’ll be charged with aiding and abetting.” He pointed at Pav. “We’re taking you into custody for now. You’re not under arrest at this time, until we determine your involvement in the Baker’s kidnapping.”

  Pav dropped his head, knowing that things probably weren’t going to go well for him. He was not even a legal resident of Australia and had far outstayed his visa.

  MacKenzie pointed at Chris. “For now you’re free to go. The Bakers have identified you as their rescuer.” He paused. “You can call yourself a hero for now. But don’t get too comfortable with the title.” He leaned forward, looking directly into Chris’ eyes. “I’m gonna dig and dig, until I uncover all the evidence in this bizarre freak show. If something doesn’t add up, I’m going to drag your arse to jail. You hear me?”

  “Am I free to go?”

  “For now.” Mackenzie stood up straight. “I suggest you go back home for now, but make sure you make yourself available if we need you to testify ... or for further questions.”

  Finally it was done. Two police officers took Pav into custody, cuffing his hands behind his back and leading him to a patrol car. Chris breathed a sigh of relief as he was allowed to go free.

  ***

  The piercing sun was high in the sky, scorching everything in its path. The red desert stretched out in all directions as far as the eye could see. Heat waves rose from the black asphalt highway. Mirages of small bodies of water formed in the distance. All was still.

  Speeding down the lonely road, the bright red Cherokee interrupted the silence, its tires slapping the road as it drove. Chris sat solemnly behind the wheel. His eyes wandered over to the picture of Shawn on the passenger seat. He had failed. Tears welled in his eyes.

  His foot slowly eased off the gas, moving to the brake, bringing the Cherokee to a stop on the side of the road. He took the photo in his hand, staring at his son.

  The Cherokee’s door flew open. Chris placed his foot on the hot, rocky dirt, the heat of the day smacking him in the face. Hesitant to leave the comfort of the air-conditioned vehicle, he looked into the blinding blue sky.

  His hand slid into his pocket, his fingertips feeling the smooth surface of the oval object. He removed it, resting it in the palm of his hand, and studied the alien symbols covering the outside. His fingers gliding over the top. His mind worked as he tried to picture the gray punching in the password to get it to work. He tried to replicate the actions, to no avail; the object appeared dead.

  He tried again and again. No combination seemed to work.

  Dropping hands down by his side, he took a deep breath. Overwhelming frustration set in. He slowed his breathing, closing his eyes for a moment. One last try. He waved the device around in the air, seeing if he needed to catch a signal. It was worth a shot. He moved onto the road.

  Gently he pressed on each symbol. That had to be the combination. He paused with anticipation. He really believed he had it this time.

  The device didn’t react.

  “Son of a bitch!” Chris tossed the device, like a football, as hard as he could into the surrounding desert.

  His head dropped, eyes closed. “Please … Please, God.” He mumbled the words, stumbling on the word “God.”

  “Help me. We can’t lose another.” Chris raised his head, looking around. He was not a religious man, but this was all he had left. Looking into the sky again he screamed, “WE CAN’T LOSE ANOTHER! YOU HEAR ME?”

  He wiped this mouth with the back of his hand. His other hand made a tight first. White knuckles. He spun in a circle, looking at the dry desert around him. Dead grass and dead, sparse trees. Rolling, sand-covered hills. He was small and insignificant compared to the vast, surrounding landscape. A harsh environment. It remained undefeated.

  Stepping toward the Cherokee he stopped and did a double take on the desert. He didn’t want to go back, but he had to. Leaning into the four-by-four, he grabbed his cell and punched in a quick text message: “I’m coming home.”

  He slammed the door closed behind him. Sweat ran down his forehead and back. He quickly restarted the car, blasting the aircon on. The cool air felt good. He pulled the stick into drive; the indicator ticked. Just as he was about to drive off, his eyes caught the sun’s reflection coming off the oval object, half buried in the dirt where it had landed.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Home

  A neat and tidy, upper-class American neighborhood. A small layer of snow had dusted everyone’s front lawn. Leafless trees lined the street. During the fall, their leaves would explode with different yellows, oranges and reds. Right now, the leaves had fallen, leaving the area cold and depressing. It would be spring soon and the cold, depressing days would soon be behind them.

  Kate Marshall stood on the front doorstep of their upscale, double-story home. She wrapped her pale, pink sweater tightly around her small frame, trying to stay warm, as she looked back and forth, up and down the street. She glanced at her watch, bobbing up and down on her toes, a little anxious.

  Not long out of hospital, she had seen better days. With dark rings under her eyes, she was lucky if she'd had more than three hours of sleep each night.

  ***

  Soon a bright yellow cab pulled over in front of the house. Chris quickly exited the car, visibly worn. Kate could see breath escaping his lips with each exhale, as he stood in the cold. His beaten face had begun to heal, but visible bruising and scabbed cuts still marked his face. His neck and face were tanned; the only person with a natural tan this time of year. Several days of facial hair growth rounded out his new, rugged look.

  He took a deep breath of the cold, crisp air. It was a welcome change to the unbearable heat of outback Australia. He was home.

  Briskly walking toward him, Kate gave a little hop as she began to run. It had seemed like an eternity since they had seen each other. Held each other. They embraced tightly on the footpath, not wanting to let go. Chris leaned in, giving her a small, tender kiss. Kate’s eyes filled with tears. Their joy bitter-sweet; visibly overshadowed with the stark reality—Chris had returned alone.

  ***

  The all-too-familiar alarm sounded on Chris’ cell phone. Monday morning. Time to get dressed for work—his first day back since things happened. It was hard to get back to the normal grind, but as their counselor said: it could be good to get back into a routine.

  Steam hung in the air from Chris’ hot shower. He toweled the misted mirror, seeing a disfigured version of h
imself. His body and face had mostly healed from the multiple encounters with Roy and other tumbles in the outback. Again he checked his body: no visible sign of any gunshot wounds. It was still hard to believe. If it hadn’t happened to him, he wouldn’t believe it either. He rubbed his face, wishing they had fixed all the damage.

  Chris positioned the razor to his face, ready to cut through his whiskers—ready to turn back into a civilized human being. He wasn’t so sure.

  Was he ready to return to normal life, when Shawn was still out there, somewhere?

  ***

  Chris met Kate and his two girls in the kitchen. Fresh and dressed in a fine suit ready for work. His tie perfectly straight, buttons in a straight line with his belt and fly, shoes polished—military style.

  The daily rush to get out the door had begun. However, everyone seemed more subdued than normal. Not so loud. Everyone a little more polite. Things were far from normal.

  Shawn’s empty seat at the kitchen table—a clear reminder that life was not normal. The girls tried to pretend things were okay. They tried their best not to get in the way and not to ask for much. Let Mom and Dad have space. It was almost a fake way to live: rehearsed and contemplated. But how else would he expect everyone to react? Maybe instead this was the new normal. Fake happiness, fake celebrations. How long would it take? Not knowing what happened to Shawn only amplified the suppressed pain, for all of them.

  Only two lunch sacks to fill. Only two to push along to get dressed and out the door. Kate and Chris soon found themselves alone as the two girls rushed out to catch the bus. The quiet stillness was unnerving. Kate gave Chris a sympathetic gaze.

  She moved around the island counter, meeting Chris. She pressed her two hands on his chest. “I’m not going to cry today. I told myself that.”

  Chris wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “It’s okay if you do.”

  Resting her head on him, her lip quivered. A tear ran down her cheek. She closed her eyes. Chris rested his chin on top her head. It was more comforting to hold each other than to speak.

  ***

  The day passed quickly. Night had closed in. Chris stood on his back deck, sipping on a cup of tea. His shirt untucked, tie loosened, five o’clock shadow. He stared into the night sky. The stars weren’t as visible as the Red Centre, but still a nice view.

  He felt sick to the stomach, the responsibility and pressure of finding Shawn still heavy on his shoulders. It was not something that could just be put to rest. He had to do something. He had to begin the search again.

  ***

  Chris scooped a bunch of paperwork and other odds and ends from his home office desk into an empty box. He moved around the room, grabbing non-essential things—files, books, etc.—and piling them into boxes, making room for his new command center. It was a simple room down in the basement. A wooden desk with a desktop computer. The walls bare. Dimly lit.

  Chris pinned a recent picture of Shawn straight to the wall with a small thumbtack. He flopped back into his black, high-back, leather executive chair. He took a moment to stare at Shawn’s picture. Cracked his knuckles. Time to work.

  He removed his cell, placing it on the desk in front of him. After scrolling through the menu and pressing a few buttons, Shawn’s voice message played.

  “Hey, Dad, it’s me. I thought I would just let you know that I’m heading back to Sydney. Then I’m coming home. I’ll call you from the airport in a couple of …”

  The voice message stopped. Again the eerie silence.

  Shawn’s excited voice burst out once more over speaker-phone, finishing the message.

  Chris had heard this message countless times. There was no secret message in there. No other clues. Just the obvious things. “Strange red light” echoed in his ears. He closed his eyes, picturing all the crazy things he had witnessed in the outback. His son must have been taken by those bastards.

  ***

  The annoying cell alarm sounded. Another Monday morning. Chris quickly turned it off, staying beneath the warm bedclothes. Days had turned to weeks. The daily grind was getting too much. He covered his face with the blankets, not wanting to face the day.

  Kate briskly moved passed the bed, shaking his foot as she went. “Time to get going,” she said in an usual, upbeat, cheery voice. She was trying to be strong. Her medication seemed to be working. Keeping her out of depression. She had to keep moving and not think about life without Shawn. She had to tell herself that he was still on vacation and would be home soon. It was as if she was living in an alternative reality. She had checked out. Something that was sending Chris into a worse state of mind.

  Chris finally made it to the kitchen. Shirt half untucked, his tie loosened. A few days worth of stubble on his face. The girls had already left for the day and Kate was just about to leave herself.

  Kate moved in for a goodbye kiss, running her hand over his face. “You should shave.” She paused, leaning in a little closer. She sniffed. “Did you have a shower?”

  She playfully slapped his chest. “You can’t go out like that! Clean yourself up.”

  ***

  Spring soon came. The days were getting warm. Flowers and trees were beginning to show signs of life again. The nights and mornings were still crisp and cool. Chris sat on the back steps just off the deck, dressed in pajamas and night gown. Hair and beard longer. The stars twinkling overhead. The dim light from the kitchen window shined down on the back of his head.

  The light soon went out and he was left in darkness. The familiar sound of the back door opening caught his attention. He didn’t turn around. He knew it was Kate, coming to chastise him again. That was all they spoke about these days, what he wasn’t doing right.

  Kate stood a few feet from him. She closed her night gown tightly around herself, folding her arms to keep it closed. “I put your dinner in the fridge if you’re interested.” She paused, waiting for a response from Chris.

  Nothing.

  “I’m going to bed,” she continued. She turned to leave, but stopped. She glanced back at her lonely husband. “You’re not the only one hurting. You’re two girls are hurting too. They’ve lost a brother and now, a father.” She waited again to see if this would cause a stir in Chris. He didn’t move, his head tilted to the stars.

  Kate tried to hold back tears. “I’m hurting too,” she said softly.

  Chris stared at the ground. He didn’t know what to say. It was the first time in months Kate seemed to be admitting things were not right. He was bearing this burden himself. Kate had heard the voice message. She didn’t know what it meant. She wouldn’t believe him if he told her the truth. She still had hope that one day the phone would ring and an Aussie cop would let her know Shawn had been found. But Chris knew the truth—that wasn’t going to happen.

  Defeated, Kate turned, leaving Chris to stargaze. After a moment, his hand reached into his gown pocket. He took hold of the alien, oval object. The only proof of what had happened. He wanted to show it to Kate, but he didn’t know what kind of damage it would do to her mentally and emotionally. He was barely keeping his own shit together. How would she react? Oftentimes he had thought of taking it to the experts, to the government. But Frank’s warning echoed in his mind. The device would disappear, and he probably would too, if he didn’t keep his mouth shut. Who knew what would happen if this information and device were turned over? Like old Frank said, they were alone in this war. No one was going to fight for them.

  He stood in the middle of the backyard looking at the star-filled night sky. Staring at the unearthly device. It had been a long time since he tried it—or had even seen it light up. Maybe it was out of power. Who knew? Haphazardly, he pressed the alien symbols, hoping something would happen. Not that he expected it. Nothing ever did. He held it up to the sky, as he had done many nights before. Hoping; praying for contact.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sky Beings

  Chris pinned a recent picture of a UFO over a beach town in Cornwall, Eng
land, along with Shawn’s photo and other scattered pictures of UFOs and alien drawings on his office wall.

  He swayed back and forth on his chair, staring at the recent picture. Not bothering to groom himself—with a new beard growing in—more important objectives dominating his mind.

  He brought two hands together, fingers out straight and tapping them on his lips, deep in thought. With a solemn face, his eyes moved to his son’s photo.

  The room was dark. Only a small desk lamp on to light the room, along with the computer’s monitor. The green glow of a UFO website shined on his face. It had crazy facts about alien abductions, sightings and other strange facts—bigfoot, Lochness monster, etc.