The Homecoming

by Alan Russell

  “Don’t let Daddy have any more,” said Stella. “He’s eaten a lot, and we need to have some for Michael and Luke.”

  “How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child!” moaned Duncan.

  The Shakespeare reference was probably lost on Stella, but not the fact that her father was joking. Both of them made faces at each other and laughed.

  Stella picked up a cell phone and some earbuds from a chair in her room, then cleared a space on the chest for Cheever to sit.

  “Here you’re back for only a day and you already have a cell phone?” asked Cheever.

  “It’s Michael’s old phone,” she explained, “which he only uses to listen to music. He has like two thousand songs in the cloud. I’ve already listened to about a hundred of them.”

  “You must like music,” said Cheever.

  “I do,” she said, “but I’m not sure about Michael’s taste in music.”

  Stella took a seat in her old desk chair. It was too small for her, but somehow she still looked comfortable.

  “That’s a nice outfit you’re wearing,” said Cheever. “Is it new?”

  Stella nodded, running her hand along the arm of her blouse. “I went shopping with Mom and Dad this morning. And then we went and saw Dr. Schmitt in her office. She did more tests on me.”

  “Did you get a clean bill of health?”

  “She said I was as healthy as a horse.”

  “I’m sure that made your parents very happy.”

  “Dr. Schmitt also said I was a lot stronger than I looked.”

  “I better not arm-wrestle you, then.”

  “You better not!”

  “So how do you explain this strength of yours?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Without the pull of gravity, astronauts lose significant body mass, especially when they’re in space for extended periods of time. How is it that you weren’t similarly affected?”

  “I wasn’t always in space. And when I was—or I should clarify by saying when I was more like myself physically—I followed diet and exercise protocols.”

  Protocols, thought Cheever. It was an interesting word for a fourteen-year-old to be using.

  “Did the Travelers follow those same protocols?”

  Judging by her smile, the question apparently amused her. “They had no need.”

  “Why not?”

  “The Travelers aren’t corporeal unless they choose to have a form.”

  Corporeal. He added another unique vocabulary word to the Stella list. “They don’t have bodies?” asked Cheever.

  Stella appeared unsure how to answer. “They have a presence,” she finally said.

  “But this presence doesn’t take a physical form?”

  “Yes and no,” she said. “You know when a Traveler is in your proximity.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking you these questions, Stella,” he said. “I worked your case for so long it became a big part of my life, and even with you now back, I need to know what happened to you during the seven years you were gone.”

  She nodded to show she understood.

  “Have you ever heard the expression false memories?” he asked.

  “It seems like that’s all I heard today,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “After I saw Dr. Schmitt, I had an afternoon session with Dr. Froke. He had a lot to say about false memories.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to synopsize for me what he had to say.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “He told me and my parents that my time with the Travelers was likely a false memory.”

  “How did you respond to that?”

  “He didn’t give me much of a chance to respond. And Mom and Dad seemed to prefer Dr. Froke’s explanation to mine. They go silent whenever I talk about anything that has to do with the Travelers.”

  “I’m told therapy won’t do you any good if you’re not being truthful.”

  “If Dr. Froke asks me a question, I will answer it honestly, even though I don’t think he’s interested in the truth.”

  “What do you think he’s interested in?”

  “I’d say he wants to establish a plausible explanation for my disappearance that doesn’t involve the Travelers.”

  “And why would he want to do that?”

  “I’m not sure. I only know that I don’t hear Dr. Froke’s voice in his questions or comments.”

  “How could you not hear his voice if he’s the one doing the talking?”

  Again she seemed to have to search for the right phrasing. “I listen beyond words,” she said.

  “Are you saying you’re a mind reader?”

  She shook her head. “It’s more that I pick up impressions, especially when they’re louder than words. Because I’m used to mindspeak, reverting back to talking feels painfully slow. It would be like your having to forsake the power of speech and communicate instead through writing.”

  “So you’re saying mindspeak is a form of thought communication?”

  Stella nodded. “I’m sure that’s why my speech seems halting to you. I’ve been away from it for so long it feels cumbersome.”

  “If you’re not in the habit of speaking,” said Cheever, “how is it that you know a word like cumbersome?”

  “My vocabulary was . . . imparted . . . through mindspeak. Incorporating the right word into speech is easy, at least when compared to utilizing the many facial accompaniments that are used with speech.”

  She punctuated what she was saying with a nod and a smile. “I’m doing my best with nonverbal communication, such as nodding and smiling and frowning. But there’s so much more to show, just like your face is expressing right now. Even without the benefit of mindspeak, your furrowed brows, pursed lips, and narrowed eyes express your disbelief of what I’m saying more than any words could.”

  “And here I thought I had a poker face.”

  Stella smiled. Cheever wondered whether it came naturally. “I can also read your concern for me,” she said, her voice soft. “It makes me feel cared for.”

  “I’m glad,” he said. “And in case you can’t divine it from my facial expressions, being a professional skeptic is part of who I am.”

  He gave her a playful wink, which she returned uncertainly. Her awkward attempt made Cheever laugh, and Stella joined in.

  “I’m sorry I can’t conduct this interview with mindspeak,” he said. “Is that how you always communicated with the Travelers?”

  “That’s how everyone communicated.”

  “Were there others besides the Travelers?”

  “There were twelve of us. We came from all over Earth.”

  Cheever made a surprised sound. “Tell me about them.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Let’s start with their names and where they came from.”

  After a moment’s pause, she said, “That’s difficult.”

  “What’s so difficult about providing me with names?”

  Stella replied as if measuring each word: “You need to understand that mindspeak makes names irrelevant.”

  On the job, Cheever often spoke to individuals whose native tongue wasn’t English. It was frequently a struggle for them to be understood. Finding the right words was a torture of sorts. Stella seemed to be experiencing that.

  “Explain that,” said Cheever. “I’m used to everyone having a name.”

  “When you mindspeak with someone, you know their . . . essence. That makes names superfluous. From your life experience, you are used to faces being substantial and thoughts being invisible, whereas I see the substance of thoughts. You identify an individual by a name, or by looking at a face, or by hearing a particular voice. All of that seems insubstantial to me.”

  “So you can’t provide me with a single name from those dozen people?”

  “I wish I could share their essences with you. In that way you would know them.”

  “You
said these dozen individuals came from around the world. Did anyone else in your group come from this country?”

  She thought about that and finally said, “One of them did.”

  “What can you tell me about this individual?”

  “I wish I could imbue you with his spirit, Detective. That’s how I know him and see him. But that is not the tangible you want. You ask for the one-dimensional. He is about my age, but then so was everyone I traveled with. We are close to the same height, but he is heavier than I am. And his skin color is much darker than mine.”

  “Do you know what part of the country he came from?”

  She shook her head. “He arrived a few days after I did. We all came together within a month’s time. But it seems to me that at first he missed eating fish. That was his favorite food. And for the first few days he missed the water.”

  Thinking about that seemed to jar a memory. “He said his family was destined to be on the water because of their name.”

  She stretched out a hand, as if trying to grasp the thought.

  “So it’s likely his last name is water related,” said Cheever. He began thinking of possibilities. “Could it have been Fisher or Brooks?”

  “No and no,” said Stella.

  “How about Lake?” tried Cheever? “Or Wade or Bay?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Flood, Rain, or Falls,” said Cheever.

  “Those don’t feel right,” she said.

  Anyone else probably would have said that they didn’t sound right, he thought.

  “I’ll look into it further,” the detective promised. “You said everyone in your group was about the same age. Was there a reason for that?”

  “We were a class of sorts,” Stella said. “I know one of the reasons we were selected is because we were predisposed to mindspeak.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Each of us heard the Travelers calling to us. They were testing our receptivity to mindspeak.”

  What she said reminded Cheever of the movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind, but he didn’t mention that.

  “So the rest of your original group is still with the Travelers?”

  “Would an angel willingly depart heaven?”

  “You returned.”

  “I had my reasons.”

  Cheever remembered how Stella said she came back because she perceived a growing disharmony. When questioned, Stella had referred Cheever to her mother. He still hadn’t asked Eleanor about that.

  “So how is your reentry to Earth going?” He didn’t hide either his smile or his kidding tone.

  “I think it’s a little early to tell, isn’t it? But Dr. Froke, for one, believes I’m ready to return to school.”

  “So soon?” said Cheever.

  “Dr. Froke has told my parents that peer interaction is necessary to develop my socialization skills. He also says the sooner I get back into the mainstream, the better it will be for me.”

  “What do you think about that?”

  Stella shrugged, but it seemed to Cheever that there was a slight time delay, and he wondered if she had to think about shrugging before doing it. “It doesn’t seem that long ago when I went to kindergarten, and I was equal parts excited and scared. But I’m glad my parents are so happy about the prospect of my returning to school. They want everything to be like it used to be. They want their little girl back, and would prefer the Travelers never be mentioned again.”

  “They said that to you?”

  “They didn’t need to. It was clear they agreed with Dr. Froke that I should avoid commenting on the last seven years. According to the doctor, we need to sort everything out before I talk about my time away.”

  “It might not seem like it, but your parents are looking out for you.”

  “I know.”

  “So, when will you start school?”

  “It might even be this week.”

  Cheever whistled. “That’s fast.”

  “Dr. Froke had me take a test. Apparently the results confirmed my ‘intellectual readiness’ to rejoin my class.”

  “How did he explain that?”

  “He said it’s clear I’ve had schooling, but that for the time being, I’m repressing its true source with the fiction of the Travelers.”

  “He said that in front of you?”

  “He offered that explanation to my parents. He also said he believes it’s likely my false memories are based on my favorite childhood stories.”

  Cheever moved his eyes from Stella to the bookcase, which was still overflowing with books.

  “Did Dr. Froke ask you about any of your favorite stories?”

  “He asked my parents. He feels my story about the Travelers has several obvious roots. For example, on the night I went missing, my mother told him how I recited ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’ The poem’s final lyric mentions a traveler.”

  “I don’t think I know the last lyric.”

  Stella recited it for him:

  “As your bright and tiny spark,

  Lights the traveler in the dark,

  Though I know not what you are,

  Twinkle, twinkle, little star.”

  “Lights the traveler,” said Cheever. That might explain how Stella had come up with the name Travelers. He was actually surprised Froke had picked up on that potentially telling passage.

  “Dr. Froke also says my story might be drawn from the Pied Piper of Hamelin. He emphasized how the Pied Piper was this alien figure, and then he quoted from Browning about how there was no guessing his ‘kith or kin.’ This Piper offered a wonderland to the children, Dr. Froke said, just like the Travelers offered me the universe.”

  “And here I always thought the Pied Piper was a cautionary tale of what happens if you go back on your word,” said Cheever.

  “And I always thought it was just a story,” said Stella.

  Cheever heard her plaintive note. Stella had an analytical mind and an adult’s vocabulary, but the girl that she was sometimes came out as well.

  The thought of Diane came to the detective’s mind. His little girl had been forced to be an adult long before her time; his little girl had died so young. Had he read the story of the Pied Piper to her? Cheever couldn’t remember whether he had or not. That was unusual for him; normally he remembered everything. Maybe it was a blessing to forget some things, or at least to have the balm of distance to lessen the hurt.

  Cheever awoke from his reverie, trying to remember what he and Stella had last said.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Stella.

  “Sorry?” Cheever didn’t understand.

  “You should know, Detective Cheever, that your daughter was and is a beautiful”—it took her a moment to find the word—“spirit.”

  Cheever didn’t know what to say. He stammered in search of the right word or sound, but couldn’t find anything. Both of them suddenly heard male voices coming from downstairs.

  “Michael’s home,” said Stella.

  “Then we’d better go down,” said Cheever, glad for the reprieve.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  With his mind reeling, Cheever followed Stella downstairs. How had she known about his daughter? Eleanor must have said something to her. That had to be it.

  The last time he had been this disoriented was when he’d worked the case of Holly Troy. Most of Holly’s multiple personalities weren’t human; they were goddesses straight out of Greek mythology. At least in this case he wasn’t dealing with goddesses, although extraterrestrials seemed to be just as troublesome.

  Stella reached the landing and came to a stop. From his vantage point on the stairs, the detective followed her gaze. Luke Hart must have felt their eyes on him; the kid looked their way. Her way—Cheever doubted whether he even registered in the young man’s consciousness. He heard Stella’s intake of breath and realized that the boy wasn’t the only one affected. Both tried to not overtly stare, but they kept being drawn back to each other’s eyes.

>   Cheever wondered if he was witnessing love at first sight. He’d always been skeptical if there really was such a thing, but seeing this kind of current made him think it just might be possible. It was odd, he thought, that no one else seemed to be noticing what was going on between them.

  “Mrs. Brock isn’t an English teacher,” Michael was saying to his parents. “She’s a slave driver.”

  Michael suddenly became aware of his sister and Cheever. “Hey, Stella,” he said. “Hey, Detective Cheever.”

  At the sound of her brother’s voice, Stella resumed moving toward them. Michael turned to his friend. “Do you remember my goofy little sister, Luke?”

  “I—yes,” Luke managed to say.

  And then the two of them were standing awkwardly in each other’s presence, too shy to extend a hand or offer a hug. Cheever decided to spare them their uncertainty and put a friendly hand on the young man’s shoulder.

  “It’s good to see you again, Luke.”

  “You, too, Detective.”

  Cheever looked around, pausing on Stella. “The first time I talked to Luke, he was afraid I was going to arrest him.”

  “Is that true?” asked Eleanor.

  Luke looked at Stella and smiled. “I’m afraid so. Two days after you went missing, Detective Cheever came over to our house and started asking me questions. It felt like he was giving me the third degree.”

  “What’s the third degree?” asked Stella.

  “It’s an expression,” said Luke, “that kind of implies . . .”

  He seemed to lose his answer somewhere in Stella’s eyes.

  “It means Luke felt like he was being tortured,” Duncan explained.

  “A lot of people seem to think spending time with me is a form of torture,” said Cheever.

  Everyone shared a laugh, but Luke was quick to say, “It wasn’t your fault. It was my guilty conscience.”

  “What could have possibly made you feel guilty?” asked Eleanor.

  Cheever was the only person who knew about the valentine card Stella had left for Luke. Seven years ago the boy had made a tearstained confession.

  I’ll bet he still has that card, thought Cheever.

  “I was worried that I had withheld potential evidence relating to your disappearance,” said Luke. “Detective Cheever was nice enough to say that I didn’t do anything wrong, and that I needn’t have worried.”