by V. E. Lemp
“No doubt.”
“You did reach Aaron and Thea? And they’re fine?”
“Perfectly fine. Safe at home, and they haven’t seen anyone driving around aimlessly or lurking about. Now tell me what happened.”
“I saw one of them,” Mark said. “One of your otherworldly strangers. I’d just left the drop-off spot where I gave Thea and Aaron the packages. I watched them drive away and turned to get in my own car, and there was a man in the road, standing beside a small, tan car. It was a slender, pale man, with dark hair and eyes that didn’t appear exactly human. I approached him, but he climbed in his car and drove away. I jumped into my own car and followed. He led me on quite a chase. I was so engrossed in trailing him that I—quite stupidly, so stupidly”—he sighed—“I forgot to watch behind me. As we both navigated one sharp curve, another car came up on my bumper much too fast. I think he had his lights cut off until right before he reached me. He bumped into my car once, then backed off and drove by and sideswiped me. I tried to avoid him, but the lights were blinding, and I lost control of the wheel. And that’s what happened.” Mark dropped back onto the pillows, his face sagging with exhaustion.
Karen laid her hand over his. “You didn’t see who was in the second car?”
“No. Don’t know who that was. Could’ve been another of our odd strangers or someone hired by Vance.”
Karen eyed him gravely. “You didn’t tell the police about the first car, did you?”
“No. Or about the dark-haired man. Not necessarily something they’d believe, at any rate.” Mark glanced over at her. “Thanks for taking care of Kate, by the way. Claire told me.”
“No problem. I was just surprised your overly friendly neighbor didn’t volunteer.”
“Oh, she’s had a change of heart, I’m afraid,” Mark said with a faint smile. “She’s seen you at my place a little too often. I think she’s come to some interesting conclusions.”
“Really? Shouldn’t you set her straight?”
“Do I want to?” Mark lifted their joined hands up to his chest. “You’ll keep checking on Kate until I get home, won’t you? It’ll relieve my mind to know you’re taking care of her.”
“If you wish.” Karen could feel his heart beating beneath her fingers. “I’m very glad you’re going to be okay, Mark. I hope you know that.”
“I know.” He laid her hand back down on the bed. “Claire told me.”
“What did she tell you?” Karen bit the inside of her cheek. Last night she’d been so frantic, what exactly had she said to Claire?
Mark just smiled. “I’ll tell you another time, when it doesn’t hurt so much to move.”
THIRTEEN
Claire accompanied Mark when he was sent home from the hospital. With Mark under his sister’s care Karen decided to spend a few days with her parents. They were pleased but surprised by her unexpected visit.
“Didn’t lose your job, did you?” her father asked cautiously as they were eating dinner one evening.
“No, Dad, I did not.” Karen balanced a forkful of potatoes between her plate and her mouth.
“Just thought school would have started back by now.”
“I’ve decided to take the semester off. Personal leave. I arranged it with my department chair a few weeks ago.”
“And they don’t mind?” Karen’s mother nervously pleated a napkin.
“No, not at all. I’ve never asked the college for a favor before, and I took the precaution of lining up a colleague who’s more than willing to take over my classes for a term.”
“But why?” her mother asked. “Why do you need to take a semester off? You aren’t feeling down, are you?”
Karen studied her mother’s anxious face for a moment.
“No. You don’t have to worry about that.” She finally took a bite of her food.
Her mother smiled. “Because I actually think you look quite well. Brighter, you know?”
“Do I?” Karen mulled over this information throughout dinner and later spent some time in front of her old bathroom mirror, examining her face.
While at home, Karen kept watch for circling cars or strangers loitering in the neighborhood. She saw nothing that raised any alarms. She also devised a few innocent questions to pose to her parents and was satisfied by their lack of response.
“I don’t believe they’ve been approached by any of our strangers, and it doesn’t appear anyone is watching their house,” she informed Mark over the phone.
“Good to know.”
“And how are you?”
“Better. But Claire’s wearing a bit thin.”
“You mean you’re wearing her down or she’s wearing on your nerves?”
“Yes,” Mark said.
Karen laughed. “You are better, aren’t you?”
Karen received several messages from David Cole, but when she finally called him she only reached his voice mail. She left a brief message explaining her absence.
“I do have more questions for you,” she said, “and I hope you’ll be willing to tell me the truth. I can’t promise to back off my investigation, but I’ll tell you what I know, if you’ll do the same.”
He immediately returned her call.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, after offering a warm hello, “and believe I should provide you with the information in my possession. It might satisfy your curiosity. Perhaps enough to make you drop this.”
“You’re quite determined I do that, aren’t you? Not sure why you’ve made it your personal mission to save me from myself, but I’m certainly willing to listen to your information, whatever it may be.”
“I’ll be delighted to see you again, Karen. Just let me know when you want to stop by,” David said, before wishing her a good day.
Karen stared at her phone. David Cole seemed strangely interested in her welfare. She knew Mark thought his interest was personal, but she found that hard to believe, especially on so short an acquaintance. Perhaps Cole really was one of Vance’s collaborators. He might be attempting to get in her good graces just to convince her to return to the Morpheus Project. She shook her head. “Now who has a suspicious mind?” she asked aloud. David had saved her from serious injury and was always pleasant. There was nothing to suggest he wished her any harm.
But she would be on her guard when they met again, just in case.
Karen’s phone buzzed as soon as she walked into the condo. She paused for a moment before answering, wondering if David Cole somehow knew she was back in town. She offered a tentative hello and was relieved to hear Claire Ledford’s voice.
“I really can’t stay any longer,” Claire said. “My mother needs a lot of help getting around, and of course there’s Amy. It’s almost the beginning of the new school year. I’ve ignored all the preparations for my own classroom and haven’t shopped for anything Amy needs to start the year. Mark’s insisting I leave, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And truthfully, he’s doing well. But I’d feel better if someone could check on him from time to time. Make sure he’s resting, eating right, that sort of thing.”
“You mean me.”
“I doubt he’d open the door to anyone else, and he’ll probably tell you it’s unnecessary. But don’t pay any attention.”
“He might claim I’m good at that,” Karen said.
“I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Claire asked to be kept posted on Mark’s progress, promising any help that might be needed. “Just don’t let him bully you. He can get quite grumpy when he isn’t feeling well.”
“Only then?”
Claire’s peal of laughter rang in Karen’s ear before she hung up the phone.
Karen drove to Mark’s the next day. She’d debated whether to call ahead but finally decided to arrive unannounced. As she climbed out of her car the front door opened slowly.
“What are you doing here?” Mark leaned heavily on the doorframe.
Karen met him at the door, facing down his
dour expression.
“Aren’t you pleased to see me? I haven’t been able to visit you in over a week.”
“I was hoping to be in better shape when we met again.” He waved her into the house. “Afraid I’m still rather banged up at this point.”
“Now, why would I care about that?” Karen glanced about the room and noticed the usually tidy space was cluttered with banker’s boxes and several piles of manila folders.
Mark motioned her to one of the armchairs and gingerly settled on the sofa, wincing as he stretched out his legs. “It might not matter to you, but I’d prefer you not act as my nursemaid.”
“Actually, Claire sent me,” Karen said, sinking into the chair. “She thought you might need some assistance.”
“My sister has a devious mind.”
“Runs in the family, then?”
“Yes, it does. Now, if you’d truly like to assist me you can grab that stack of folders on the kitchen table. Tarrow sent me copies of documents he’s been gathering for some time. He thought I might be able to glean valuable information from them.”
“Sent you?” Karen walked to the kitchen to fetch the papers. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
“I used a special courier.”
“Someone you know from your work, whatever that is?” Karen laid the folders on the end table next to the sofa.
“Exactly. If you’d like to help,” Mark said, after a brief pause, “you could take half that pile and sort through a few things.”
“All right.” Karen picked up the top portion of the folders and returned to one of the armchairs. “What exactly am I looking for?”
“Names. You’re looking for names. Grab a pen and notepad from the desk. What I need you to do,” he said as she sat down, “is write down all the names you find in the documents. Put them in a column, with another couple of columns next to it. As you find repetitions of the names, note the frequency and the source document in the adjacent columns. I want to know how many times, and where, the names are mentioned.”
“How interesting.” Karen opened the first folder.
A faint smile crossed Mark’s face. “My work is not very glamorous. Sorry to disappoint.”
They worked in silence for a while. Kate wandered into the room and stared at both of them before leaping into the unoccupied armchair. Karen looked up as Kate’s loud purr rumbled from the other chair and noticed it was past one o’clock. “You haven’t had any lunch. Can I fix you something?”
Mark glanced over at her. “I can get my own lunch.”
“I know you can.” Karen laid aside the folders and rose to her feet. “But I’m offering to help. You might graciously accept.”
“Very well. There’s still some food in the refrigerator, courtesy of Claire. She must’ve whipped up dozens of casseroles and salads before she left.”
“She obviously cares about you, despite your incivility.” Karen walked to the kitchen.
“I’m quite civil.” Mark slowly rose to his feet and followed her. “No, you don’t want that,” he said, as Karen poked about in the refrigerator, shuffling plastic containers.
“Bad?” Karen lifted her hand off one of them.
Mark made a face. “I said Claire left food. I didn’t say it was good.”
“Now that is quite uncivil.” Karen pulled out a container of what looked like tuna salad.
“The tuna’s okay.” Mark sat at the kitchen table. “There’s bread in the cabinet.”
Karen was quiet for a few minutes. She assembled two sandwiches, considering her next words. “So, Mark, do you think Myron Tarrow is right? About alien entities, I mean. Is that what we’re dealing with?”
He regarded her calmly. “Maybe. Probably. I know it seems insane, but the facts line up to support the theory.”
Karen sat down and pushed a plate over to Mark. “But the part about me being some conduit for their messages … I mean, those dark-eyed people do appear in my dreams, and there are my odd sketches. But I can’t see how that would be so valuable—either to aliens or Exocorp.”
“But you wouldn’t, would you? You wrote down dreams and drew things without knowing their meaning. Yet those dreams and sketches apparently provided Vance and his cohorts with important information. What they used it for—who knows? Though I suspect”—he picked up the second half of his sandwich—“they’ve been gleaning advanced technology specifications from the Morpheus Project. Information Exocorp uses for its research and development efforts. New technology, new products, more profits.”
“It’s all about money, then?”
“Everything’s about money. Money and power. What else matters to those who run this world?” Mark shrugged. “Religion, philosophy, cultural heritage, and national pride mean nothing to those in power. Sure, you’ll hear all sorts of propaganda about why they value certain things, but it’s all a smokescreen for their greed. They value nothing except themselves.”
“A rather cynical view.”
“But true. However, I’m not as jaded as you think. I know there are people who live by principles and faith.” He frowned. “The problem is they’re not the ones who get to make the decisions.”
“Most of the time,” Karen said.
He nodded. “Yes, sometimes they win a victory. It’s rare, but it does happen.”
“Is that why you want to expose the collaboration between these alien entities and Vance and his cohorts?”
“Yes. Not that it will immediately change anything. But I’d like to give the average person a chance to make their own choices. Based on truth instead of lies.”
Karen studied him for a moment before collecting the plates from the table. “Have you found any more information that might help?” She placed the dishes in the sink.
“Maybe. I’ve been pondering the mystery of these dark-haired strangers, and one thing jumps out at me. Not all of them express the same agenda. Think about it—Alice warns you off the Morpheus Project, while Isabelle wants to lure you back in. That’s something worth pursuing.”
Karen ran some water in the sink. “They aren’t all on the same page?”
“It would seem not. Which could be used to our advantage, if we could make contact with those opposed to Exocorp’s activities.” Mark crossed the room to stand behind her. “Here, let me help. You don’t have to fix lunch and wash dishes too.” As he reached his arms around her, Karen heard his swift intake of breath.
Karen turned to face him. “You’re in no condition for such activity.”
“I know,” he said, keeping his arms loosely about her waist. “Damn it all to hell.”
Karen looked up at him. “What are we talking about?”
He grinned and kissed her gently on the mouth. “Exactly what you’re thinking. I hope.”
She waved the dishcloth at him. “Go sit on the sofa. You need your rest.”
“I’ve had enough damned rest.” Mark dropped his arms to his sides and headed into the living room. “Come on, then, let’s get back to work.”
When Karen finished the dishes, she went back to the living room and sat next to Mark.
“Speaking of realizations, I’ve been pondering how I’ve been a messenger for these beings, whatever they are. Passing along their information through my dreams and my drawings.” She frowned. “But never really communicating with them. I wonder if it’s time I learned how to talk back?”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking of asking Myron Tarrow if he knows anyone who could teach me how to do that.”
Mark regarded her, tension creasing the lines around his mouth. “Is that wise? You might draw their attention, and I’m not sure that’s desirable.”
“I need to do something, and my options are limited. These aliens might be able to manipulate my mind. But apparently Vance can’t. And it seems neither Vance nor Exocorp can control my dreams.”
Mark pulled her into his arms. “Do as you feel right, my love,” he whispered in her ear. “But don’t go
and get yourself killed. I’ve grown rather attached to you.”
“You’re a fine one to talk.” Karen gently wrapped her arms about him, cautious of his bruised ribs. “Always running into danger.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“You’ve no intention of backing off this investigation, do you?”
“No. None whatsoever.”
“Neither do I,” Karen said with a sigh. “So I guess we’d better get used to worrying about each other.”
“I suppose I can manage that.”
“You’ll have to.” Karen shifted and felt him wince. “And now I’d better go.” She slid out of his arms and sat forward. “You’re definitely in no condition for such activity.”
Mark dropped back against the sofa cushions. “Next time I’ll be tanked to the gills on pain medication.”
Karen smiled. “I never take advantage of men under the influence.” She evaded his hands and moved to the center of the room. “I may be unavailable for a few days. Things to do.”
“Visiting Tarrow, I suppose? Well, it gives me more time to recover.” Mark gave her a look that made the heat rise in her face.
Karen gathered up her purse. “I’ll call you.”
“You’d better. Or I’ll send Kate to track you down.”
“Oh, does she take orders now?” Karen asked, opening the front door.
“No.” Mark expelled a gusty sigh. “No better than you do.”
Dream Journal, August 20th:
I ran down a wooded path. Pine trees rose up on both sides of the path, their trunks straight and clean far up into the canopy. A tumble of brambles and scrubby shrubs filled the space between the tree trunks. The light that filtered through the pines dappled the path with gold. It was very quiet. I heard nothing except a few distant birds and the rustle of unseen creatures moving through the undergrowth.
A sound broke the silence. The rush of wings.
