He'd have to figure it out as he went, Allan concluded. Kendra was the best choice he had. She adored her "Unc-Doc". Even at home Dawn had perpetuated the formal title. He hated to do it, but if necessary he felt he could bring Kendra into the conspiracy without her spilling the beans. At least until he thought of something else.
"Well, does she have the job?" Dawn asked, shaking Allan out of his thoughts.
"Yeah, great. It would really help me out. Speak to her tonight and let me know."
"Oh, don't worry. I know she'll jump at the chance. And I don't want you paying her more than the going rate for baby-sitters. I know how you like to spoil her." Dawn stood up to leave. At the door she stopped and looked back at her boss. "When do I get to visit your little nephew?"
The question sent a cold chill down Allan's back. "Uhh, not for a little while, if you don't mind. He's just getting over a bad cold and I want to keep his exposure to other people to a minimum. I’ll let you know when."
“Okay, but don't think you can hide him from his Aunt Dawn forever." She started to leave again, but paused once more. "What's it like after all this time to have a baby in the house?"
Allan smiled at her as he leaned back in his chair. "It feels a bit like the old days." But as Dawn left the office his mind was racing. It was nothing like the old days. Everything was moving too fast. Todd was growing too fast and it seemed only a matter of time before someone would find out the truth.
The thought struck him funny. The truth? What was the truth, really?
TJ's Disorder
Wednesday, October 13
Allan turned into the driveway of his log cabin and cut the engine of his Chevy Blazer. Through the twilight of the early summer evening, the light from the kitchen window caught his attention. Kendra's figure was highlighted on the other side. For a brief moment, Allan experienced a painful stab of déjà vu as he was reminded of the many similar nights he had come home late to his home but with a different figure waiting in the kitchen for him.
He shook his head to bring himself back to the present. No, it was not the same. Kendra was not Laura and Todd was not his real son. The first was easy to remember. Kendra was only seventeen, not thirty-five, and although she had begun to spoil Allan as much as his wife had, he never confused the two. Though at five feet, six inches, she was tall for her age, she wore her brunette hair pulled back in a perky ponytail, while Laura always kept her blonde hair too short to pull back. Todd on the other hand was an entirely different matter. As the weeks flew by, it seemed more and more natural to have his son back — maybe too natural. So, when it came time to introduce Kendra to the baby she’d be helping to take care of, he called him TJ — part Todd and part…what? He’d not come up with an adequate answer to that question.
He pulled the bag of groceries out of the back seat and walked towards the back door that led into the kitchen. Was he going crazy? The thought had popped unexpectedly into his mind a number of times lately. Or was he already a bona fide nutcase? Trying to raise someone or something that had come from the uterus of a mutt dog but was obviously not a puppy but that was taking on the unmistakable identity of his deceased son. Sounds pretty certifiable to me, he thought as he reached the door.
As he strolled into the kitchen, Kendra stopped rinsing the dishes and placed the last one in the dishwasher. She held the portable phone cradled against one cheek.
“Dr. Pritchard just came in. I’ll need to call you back later tonight, Mimi.”
As she hung up the phone she turned, a troubled look on her face, obvious to Allan even through the smile she used to try to mask it.
“Who was that on the phone?” Allan asked as he set the groceries on the kitchen table and walked over to the refrigerator to get himself a beer.
“Mimi Rawlins. You know, she’s Bo Rawlins niece. She lives over in Foster Flats, but well, she’s having some family problems so she’s been spending a lot of time at her uncles. We’ve become good friends. I think she really needs a friend right now.”
“Well, that’s really nice of you,” Allan replied.
“She’s easy to be friends with,” Kendra continued. “Even though she’s a year younger than me, she’s more interesting than most of my other friends. She wants to be a reporter when she grows up. Most of my classmates don’t seem to know what they want past next week.”
"How's TJ been today?” Allan asked changing the subject. “He hasn't been giving you any trouble, has he?"
Kendra wiped her hands with a towel and tossed it on the counter. She walked over to the kitchen table and reached into the bag of groceries. Then she stopped in mid-motion. Taking her hands back out of the bag without removing anything, she turned to Allan.
"No, TJ has been a little angel as usual, Doc." Since turning sixteen, she'd dropped the "Unc" part of the name. "But something is wrong with him, isn't there?"
"What do you mean, sweetie? Isn't he feeling well?" Allan asked, a growing concern beginning to gnaw at his stomach. Was TJ sick? Was he going to follow the path of the rest of the litter?
"I thought it was just my imagination at first, but now I'm certain it's not." Kendra continued as though she hadn't heard Allan's questions. She sat down in the chair next to the kitchen table. She rested her hands in her lap, but they refused to sit still. She's nervous or scared about something, Allan thought as he pulled a chair out from the table and sat down facing her. The gnawing sensation in his stomach grew. The jig is up. He wondered what had happened today. Had TJ turned back into a dog or worse? How could he ever have thought he could get away with this crazy game?
"He's growing too fast,” Kendra said simply. "Like I said, at first I thought it was me. Babies always seem to grow faster than they should. But not like TJ. I weighed him two weeks ago and again today. He's gained four pounds. That's abnormal by anyone's standards."
Allan nodded. He knew she was right. He'd suspected it would be only a matter of time before Kendra began to suspect something, so he wasn't completely caught off-guard by the comment. In fact, he felt a little relieved. So many other things far harder to explain could have happened. He took a long draught on his beer before answering. When he did, he spoke with the smooth tone of a professional liar. Why not? That is what he had become of late.
"I know, dear. You're right. I've been meaning to tell you, but I just haven't quite known how. TJ has a rare disorder. Doctors don't quite know what is causing it, but he is growing much faster than normal. There have been a few other cases similar to TJ's reported, but it is quite rare. It's part of what has caused the trouble between my brother and his wife. The two of them are under a lot of stress trying to cope with it. I should have told you sooner. I'm sorry."
The look on Kendra's face almost broke Allan's heart. Kendra had fallen in love with the little infant almost at once. To now hear that TJ had a serious illness was harsh news for a seventeen year old to deal with.
What am I doing? Allan wondered. I'm just digging myself deeper. I'm only putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later someone else would have to know the truth. Why not just confess to Kendra now and get it over with. Have her call her mom and Marva and the newspapers. Get it all out in the open. But even as he argued with himself, he knew why not.
They'd take TJ away. They'd want to study him — try to figure out what he really was and where he had come from. Allan just couldn't let that happen. He couldn't lose his son for a second time. Not yet.
He turned his attention back to Kendra's troubled look. "It'll be okay, sweetie. TJ's dad is talking to as many doctors as he can. That's part of the reason he left TJ with me. We may have to take him to some specialists soon but in the meantime, you just continue to do a great job caring for him. Everything will be all right."
Kendra brightened a little bit. "Do you think they can find a cure?"
"I don't know for certain, but modern medicine is making major discoveries almost every day."
Kendra walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out one
of TJ's bottles. She took it over to the stove to warm. "Well, we'll just have to be sure he gets everything he needs in the meantime. I'll tell mom that I might have to spend more time over here to be sure he's getting the proper care."
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything to your mom about TJ's condition. It would only worry her. TJ’s parents don't want other people to know right now. You might just tell your mom he has a condition which makes it not a good idea to have visitors. We can't afford to have him come down with anything else."
"Oh sure, she'll understand. You're right. Mom is a natural worrier when it comes to babies. She wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize TJ's health. I'll tell her without letting her in on our secret."
Allan finished his beer. He walked over to toss the can in the recycling bin. He felt elated. The lie had gone smoothly. I’m getting really good at this. The thought disturbed him. He was particularly concerned by the sense of pride and satisfaction that came with it. Proud to be a good liar? What was he turning into?
He walked over to Kendra and put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.
"I really appreciate what a good job you're doing. And I know TJ thanks you as well. After giving him his bottle, you run on home. You must be getting hungry yourself."
Part Three
"People think the FDA is protecting them -- it isn't. What the FDA is doing, and what people think it's doing, are as different as night and day." Herbert Ley, Jr. MD, former Commissioner of the FDA.
Vogt's Return
Saturday, October 23
Pat Vogt pulled her new Jeep Cherokee onto the shoulder of the state highway. She slipped it out of gear and pulled the emergency brake. With the engine and air conditioning still running, she climbed out of the car to stretch her legs and get her bearings. The ride of the Cherokee wasn't as comfortable as the Mercedes she'd traded in, but it was more her kind of automobile. The Merc had been fine in Charlotte. Her clients expected her to drive such a car. The owner of one of the most successful private investigation agencies in the southeast should drive a Mercedes, or BMW or Porsche. But deep down, Pat was more of a Chevy truck kind of woman, or a Jeep Cherokee.
She stretched her arms and legs and bent down to touch her toes, feeling the familiar pop of her lower back. For the first time in years, she'd missed her workouts this past week. Something she almost never did. Her hours in the gym were a sacred discipline. They were what kept her alive, as important as a policeman cleaning his gun or a surgeon sterilizing his instruments. But this week had been an exceptional week. Completing all her important cases and turning more routine matters of her agency over to her employees for an indefinite period of time was no small matter.
It always seemed to be more difficult than it should be, but then, delegating anything to anyone was so difficult. You just couldn't count on most people to do a good job. But the agency took a backseat to the case she was now on. Sometimes Pat thought the only reason she even bothered with her P.I. firm was to have a way to support the one case that meant everything to her. The case that had become her sole purpose in life — maybe even her obsession.
So, as difficult as the turnover of the business always was, Pat had gotten pretty good at it. In the past eight or ten years, she'd pulled herself out of the rat race of her own business at least four times that she could remember, each time without knowing how long she'd be gone. Some had been as short as a couple of weeks. Once she'd stayed on the road for six months, and the business had almost gone under. Tracking down clues on her own case — the Case of the Missing Alien, she affectionately called it — wasn’t easy work. No one else knew where she went or for what. She didn't dare tell anyone.
B.I.U.F.O. had made sure she’d keep her mouth shut. She had been on the edge of being declared certifiably crazy by the time they let her out of the organization. The intensive therapy sessions that had all been recorded in her permanent files didn’t help her mental state or her reputation. They'd done a good job of setting her up so, if by chance she went to the papers with her story, she would have no credibility. Not that all papers cared about their sources' credibility these days. Such papers as the National News, the Sun Times, and the worst one of all, the Global Inquiry out of Atlanta. Pat suspected few people read those papers' stories as though they were true, but they still had effect. Just to be sure Pat cooperated, B.I.U.F.O. had made it perfectly clear to her they would not hesitate to pull her back in for a long-term lease on a padded cell.
So Pat didn't dare tell anyone about The Case of the Missing Alien, not even her parents, which was tough. They never knew why she had left B.I.U.F.O. Her dad, who had been so proud of her when she'd gotten the position, was confused when she suddenly left. Both parents had been concerned when they found out about the therapy. She had finally told her dad that it wasn't as it seemed and although she couldn't tell him what had happened, she asked him to trust her. Without a moment of hesitation he had. He'd been around long enough to know about the political pitfalls one could fall into, but most of all, he knew and trusted his daughter.
Pat reached into the jeep and pulled the map off the dash. Opening it on the hood, she studied her progress. Only another thirty to forty minutes, she estimated, to the outskirts of Waynesboro. It was her third trip back to the quiet township that sat nestled in the foothills not far from the mountain of her nightmares. But she'd not been back in over five years. Third time is charm, she recited another of her father's favorite sayings. Well, it had better be, she told herself, because if I don't find anything on this trip, the Case of the Missing Alien will be permanently put to rest.
Over the past couple of months, she had given it a lot of thought and had decided ten years was long enough to put her life on hold, waiting for something, anything to happen that would suggest the alien was still alive. Oh, there had been tidbits in the news from time to time. All of them had turned out to be someone's wild imagination. As far as Pat was concerned, this was her last trip to the mountains. A final goodbye to a stage of her life she was quite ready to move beyond. She promised herself, this time she would move on.
It would be interesting to see how much the little town had changed in the five years, if indeed it had. Many of the little towns in the North Carolina mountains seemed stuck in time. It was as though they grew to fit the size of one of the narrow valleys then stopped. With no additional land flat enough for new growth, Waynesboro had grown to its maximum size.
Pat folded the map in the open position in case she needed to look at it while driving. She was about to climb back in the Cherokee for the last leg of her journey when she heard a low moan, almost a whimper. She stopped dead in her tracks, her hand automatically reaching to the small of her back where she kept her revolver. As her hand touched the vacant spot, she remembered she'd placed it in the glove compartment so she wouldn't have to endure the discomfort of sitting on it for the three-hour trip.
Should she go fetch it now? The sound repeated itself. It didn't sound very threatening. She reached down and felt for the stiletto knife strapped to her ankle and as she often did when checking for the knife, she had a momentary flash of another time she'd reached for a different knife. The comfort of the cold steel reassured her.
She walked around the back of the jeep, pausing every few steps to listen. The sound repeated itself for the third time, a little louder. She continued her search. She pulled the knife from its sheath and used it to push away the dense underbrush along the road. As she pushed deeper into the thick bushes, the whimpering repeated, this time blending into a low threatening growl.
It was an animal. It had to be. The permanently implanted image of the alien as it towered over her in the ship flashed before her eyes. No, it couldn't be. What were the chances of her running into it along the side of the road like this? Maybe not that one alien, she thought. But what about one of its offspring? What if in the past ten years, it had done nothing but continued to multiply? There could have been a second alien of the op
posite sex. Hell, who's to say the alien needed two different sexes. There were plenty of examples in the animal kingdom of asexual reproduction.
But I'd have heard of other people running into strange animals. I have been looking for such clues. Right? Still, who could say what was hiding in the bushes? She suddenly regretted leaving the revolver behind in the glove compartment. It should be in my hand. Wouldn't dad be pissed to find out his daughter had been killed all because she hadn't gone back for her gun. He'd never speak to me again. The ridiculous thought almost made her giggle. With a second low growl, the giggle caught in her throat.
"Easy boy, I'm not going to hurt you,” Pat said in a low soothing voice. She'd grown up with animals around her and although the growling made her nervous, it wasn't going to stop her. She pushed a clump of low-lying branches to one side and took another step forward. The deep growl continued as Pat finally found its source. Lying partially hidden by the brush and with leaves and twigs hanging from its thick coat was a Golden Retriever. As it saw Pat for the first time, the growl turned back to a whimper and it wagged its tail.
A good sign, Pat thought. It must be used to people. She spoke softly to the dog as she bent down to take a closer look. "Good boy. I'm not going to hurt you. Take it easy."
She put the stiletto back in its sheath and held out her hand palm up, making sure it was below the level of the dog's head. After a moment, the dog took a sniff of her hand then a tentative lick. She let the dog check her hand out thoroughly before trying to pet its head. When he didn't shy away from her, Pat decided to be a little bolder. She quietly moved closer to the dog so she could get a better look at him. As she did so, he moved back deeper into the brush, exposing his left rear leg and the deep gash that had caused him to take refuge.
FreeForm: An Alien Invasion Romance Series (FreeForm Series Book 1) Page 8
