The Primal Connection

by Alexander Dregon

  Given the apparent knowledge this human had displayed of his people, the most logical choice for that host was this strange human so intent on rescuing this female. Even if he were a poor candidate, it would at least give him access to how he knew how to create that accursed stunner.

  He drifted upward then, intent on returning to the soothing confines of a host and assimilating the new facts he was finding. Given the seriousness of his situation at the moment, he had to prioritize. He had his normal sensory inputs back now, unhindered by a human host’s limitations, he spread his senses to find out what was happening in the area. Unfettered, it was simple to detect his former host, his victim and his attacker. He still wondered about the silver in the Taser and what it implied, but that was secondary or less at the moment. He could feel the fields of this planet tearing at his being and knew he had no time to waste.

  Quickly, he drifted upward. He could move faster but the effort would accelerate his deterioration. He used what energy he had left to maintain his integrity as he floated toward the unconscious body of his former host. It was only after he got closer that he realized something was wrong. Although he could sense the energy fields he wanted, he could not even begin the process of integrating with any of them. It was as if they were already occupied, yet he could sense no other Chrliti, just this human with his mysteriously extensive knowledge of his people.

  Losing his battle with the environment, he suddenly became aware of the fact that he was entering the final stages of decline. Already, his sensory inputs were beginning to tunnel, losing the edges of his inputs to dissolution. His situation was rapidly becoming critical.

  Panic began to grab at him then. Desperately, he began to cast his senses about, searching for a source of bioenergy he could exploit. In desperate times, his people could use a large animal such as a cow or even a large dog as a host. Their fields were seldom powerful enough to be influenced, but they were enough to allow the occupant to survive.

  The trouble was that his range was deteriorating as well, and with his weakened condition, he could hardly reach beyond the confines of the house to search for even one of those.

  The panic deepened. He tried again to penetrate whatever the barrier was that was preventing him from entering any of the humans there, failing even worse this time as his strength began to fade as well. He was seconds from death at this point.

  * * * *

  Charlie noted the approach of their opponent. He knew that in most cases, his people truly had no concept of good and evil, having evolved past that point eons ago. To them, there was no right or wrong, just their survival.

  Of late though, he had noticed there was a growing faction among his people, himself included, that not only began to rediscover that facet of their intellectual character, they had found that they enjoyed it on levels they had long forgotten. To Charlie, his own choice was not an issue. He had long ago found he liked to help other sentient beings. To him, it was his own reward.

  So as not to think there was no pleasure in his existence, however, he also enjoyed the segments of input that he could share with Terry when he enjoyed life. Good food, sex, any form of gratification that Terry enjoyed, anything that caused Terry pleasure, Charlie could experience to some degree. Given that he was unused to the intensity of the emotions though, Charlie needed to access only part of the total depth of the emotion to feel more than he needed to. It struck him as being simple logic not to let himself get too far into the well of human emotion for fear of becoming one of those of his people that became, for lack of a better word, addicted to the feelings they experienced, albeit second hand.

  Since most of his people were unable to interact with their human hosts, relatively few had the level of ability to influence their host actively. Even in the most extreme cases, they still couldn’t make a person act contrary to their nature. While they could suggest a host try something new, the host had to enjoy it enough to repeat it.

  This one was one of the ones that had gone too far down the path. He had found a host that suited his desires or, perhaps, had molded him into what he wanted through suggestion and manipulation. In either case, he was, in Charlie’s opinion, the cause of all this misery and too far into enjoying himself at the expense of both the host and humanity in general.

  In short, he had to go.

  Openly panicked now, the Chrliti tried to infiltrate each of the humans in the room in turn, failing at each attempt. His body slammed into each of them to no avail as Charlie’s presence blocked not only Terry from his invasion, but also the others as well, as long as Terry maintained physical contact with both of them.

  Terrified now, the Chrliti slammed into its former host, again and again. There was no impact, but each one jarred the creature nonetheless.

  Finally, weakening faster now, the creature latched onto its former host and tried to seep into him, fighting frantically to penetrate his neural network. The continual contact allowed Charlie the first chance he had had to talk to examine it before it noticed his presence. And since Charlie was in contact with the body the creature sought to inhabit, and the creature was not inhabiting anyone, he found he could talk to it directly.

  There were no surprises. He decided quickly that this was just another of his people, seduced by the pleasures of a world most of his people would have thought so primitive as to be unworthy of thought until relatively recently in their history. He decided with equal alacrity that the creature’s dispersion would be the best thing for all concerned.

  In the language of the Chrliti, Charlie faced his brethren and began to berate him for his choices.

  “There was no reason for this. There was no need for it. You could have existed without this. You could have done great things with your ability to contact that human. Instead, you let yourself be distracted by the simple pleasures this world offered, and then, in the ultimate act of selfishness, you found a perversion that suited you and exploited it to the point of being its own crime.”

  The Chrliti cried out in terror, dissolution beginning to undermine his thought processes. “You can help me! You can let me back into my host! Please! You can have your host turn him over to their authorities and—”

  “And what? You think me a fool? Once you have regained your strength, you will begin searching for another to play your games with. The time it may take you is immaterial.”

  The Chrliti implored him piteously. “You cannot allow one of your own kind to die! There are too few of us! When we are gone…”

  Terry felt the grin Charlie expressed even though he could not hear their conversation. It struck him there was a hint of sadism in it.

  “When we are gone, we will be no more. Then, the universe will see how it does without us. I, on the other hand, am most anxious to see how it does without you.”

  With that, Charlie called up a portion of Terry’s own massive bioelectric field, wielding it almost like a sword, jamming the electrons between the host and the Chrliti’s body, forcing him to relinquish his last hold on cohesion. As he watched, the malevolence that was one of his brethren drifted off of its former host, too weak now to even try to make a last grasp at it, barely able to even register on Charlie’s senses as he faded, screaming in Charlie’s mind.

  Terry was unaware of all of the particulars of this. He could only sense the things happening on the most esoteric levels of that other plane. That said, a warm feeling of satisfaction drifted through the ether to register on his brain in a manner that was familiar although rarely so intense.

  And in the corner of Terry’s mind where Charlie lived, Terry could feel him smile.

  Chapter Seven

  The girl had looked at Terry as he entered the room with a mixture of terror and hope, the latter coming to the fore as she saw he had her captor in tow, rather than being a second wave of the horror she had found herself in.

  She had watched as he searched her attacker, hopefully for the key. Failing to find it, he shook his head as her dread returned. Her e
yes implored the man to do something. He did not disappoint.

  The only thing he could do now was either wait for Benin and his men to arrive, or… One look in the girl’s eyes made him sure that there was no choice. Forcing his prisoner on his back, he drove a heel into his solar plexus, not hard enough to cause what he felt would have been well deserved damaged, but enough to remind him that far worse awaited should he opt for anything less than full compliance.

  Finally, there was the man himself. Now bereft of the alien presence that had guided his actions for so long, he found himself confused and frightened. There was no merciful amnesia to block out his deeds of the last few weeks, no fuzziness of his memory. No, he remembered every gory sickening detail of each and every murder, of every atrocity he had committed. Every evil, incomprehensibly disgusting thing he had done glowed in his mind like a beacon illuminating a history so vile it scared him.

  He could remember the burning desire he’d had to kill the man who now had his heel in his chest just a few minutes ago. The feeling had been overwhelming. He could not understand what had driven him to such a rage. For that matter, he couldn’t explain any of his actions over the last few weeks. His tastes had always been perverted by most standards, but he had spent years hiding his true passions from everyone. Only lately, he had felt them grow beyond his control.

  After he killed Regina, he had run. He wanted to keep running, but the urges made themselves felt again; this time, in Billings as he burned a building and the body of a victim to hide evidence. Now, he was caught, and he felt almost relieved by it.

  But now, the reality of his situation was settling in. He was going to jail if he was lucky. He was possibly going to die at the hands of a civil servant who had no interest in what he did, what he wanted, nothing.

  With his hands cuffed behind him and his muscles still twitching from the shock of the Taser, he knew there was no escape from whatever fate his captor had in store for him. In a strange way, he hoped it would be a quick trial. At least he could spare his mother and father that.

  * * * *

  Benin slid out of the seat and drew his weapon. Hand motions directed a half-dozen agents to specified, predetermined areas. Say what you will about the FBI, they were efficient. The men slid into position without a sound. The gravel would be a barrier for them same as for Terry, but their constant training gave them enough of an edge to leap across the breadth of it almost easily.

  The first agent was reaching for the doorknob when the first shot rang out. Every one of the agents dropped to their knees, swiveling their heads around to try and pinpoint the location of the sound.

  The second drew a more direct response as Benin shouted, “Take the door! NOW!”

  The first agent reared up. At six five and three hundred plus pounds, he was a monster of a man resembling a Viking in both size and coloring. He charged the door just as a third shot rang out. Slamming the door with his full weight, he smashed through just as another shot sounded. Catching his balance, he moved toward the door, followed by a second agent that could have been his twin but for the color of his skin. His Hispanic heritage gleamed through, along with an equal resolution to get his job done, which at this moment meant finding and neutralizing this shooter.

  A second later, though, it all became moot as they heard a voice hollering, “Relax, boys! You can take a breather if you like. The shooting was just me cutting the chains here. Didn’t know if you guys were bringing a key.”

  Benin felt himself flush to the point that his neck got hot. The son of a bitch did it again.

  * * * *

  It didn’t take long from there. A med team arrived in the last vehicle and took custody of the girl. Terry almost had to pry her arms from around his neck. Her grip was amazing. It took a moment for Terry to realize Charlie was doing what he could to repair anything he could internally. It probably wasn’t much, but it was something, and Charlie obviously felt guilty, given the role the Chrliti had played.

  Benin, meanwhile, stood back patiently as the girl was extricated from Terry. He would not add to her misery. He was saving up all he could to land it on Terry.

  His action didn’t surprise Terry. He knew he was going to say something, and he had no doubt it was not going to be any more pleasant than their last little get together.

  As the girl finally seemed to lose her grip and the two giants lifted the prostrate form of their attacker, Terry readied himself for the onslaught he knew was coming. Benin was, if nothing else, predictable. Terry knew he was as happy about this outcome as anyone, but he also knew he wasn’t going to be happy about the way he had handled it. Nor was he going to let Terry bask in the warm glow of victory.

  The problem for Benin was that while he was pleased and determined not to let anyone know it, the rest of the participants in this little drama were more than willing to let their feelings be known. Among them, arriving just after the girl had released her grip, were the girl’s parents, the sheriff and the mayor that had agreed to Terry coming on as a consultant. Amid tears and handshakes, Terry got the feeling he was going to be the talk of the town for a time.

  He didn’t care. He’d be on his way tomorrow and that would be it. The girl would go home, and Benin would go write his reports. He would probably try to downplay his role, but Terry truly didn’t care.

  He was in the middle of his thoughts when he felt a hand grasp his shoulder and spin him around. The next moment, a huge man with sandy blond hair and a huge square jaw, that reminded him immensely of Tina’s face, was hugging him. Behind him, a woman stood holding Tina’s hand as she watched the man embrace Terry. It was easy to guess it was the girl’s parents.

  The big man confirmed that a moment later as he broke his grip and boomed at Terry, “They said you followed this guy all the way out here on a hunch! I don’t know if that is how you do what you do normally, but if it works this good all the time, keep on doin’ it! And thank you!”

  Suddenly, the big man broke down in tears. He was a strong man, unused to crying or showing any emotion for that matter. Tonight, though, he was a father that had just been run through a gamut of emotions that he was equally unused to and finally decided that little display of emotion felt good.

  The woman holding Tina’s hand fought back tears as she hugged the girl laying on the gurney then moved to Terry. Benin watched as the woman threw her arms around him and hugged him so hard, Terry swore she popped his back. Finally, she broke the hold and said simply, “The only thing I know to say is thank you! Thank you for saving my little girl!”

  The father, Larry Mays, looked at the pair. His wife, Cheri, grabbed him again and applied another hug, which Larry joined in on adding to the pressure. Terry began to wonder if it was possible to be thanked to death.

  As for Lloyd Benin? He watched the entire display silently. He had wanted to interrogate Bridger to find out what his secret was. Second to that, he wanted to find a way to see if he could get him on board at the bureau. It was just good sense. The man was good, but he would be better if they could get him under control. The problem was that he knew that would never fly with this guy. Still, he watched, looking for a hint of a way into the man’s psyche.

  If only he had known.

  Chapter Eight

  While Benin bided his time, a local news crew, alerted by the same mystical process reporters have used since the beginning of time, showed up. Along with them came the local sheriff, Mike Ironhand Hanson, followed closely by the mayor of Lester, Raymond Hall. Given the shellacking the pair had taken after the first murder, he for one was beyond ecstatic to be present at the capture of the killer. Especially given the rescue of the local girl. Played right, he could easily use this to cement his re-election.

  Hanson, as well, figured to use the rescue to further his career. To his mind though, the best way to handle this was to get this guy Bridger and these FBI agents out of the picture as soon as possible. Sharing the spotlight was not his idea of a smart move.

  What nei
ther of them knew was that there was another party to, if not their conversations or their inner thoughts, at least, their actions. The sheriff, as it turned out, was one of the occupied.

  A weakened version, thanks to the sheriff’s low bioelectrical field, he had no contact with the sheriff and, to tell the truth, from what Charlie could pick up, no desire to. His Chrliti stayed mainly because he liked the slow laid-back nature of the town and was basically too lazy to go through the process of hunting down another host.

  He was, however, an observant sort and a good judge of character. Good enough that he knew the sheriff was a two-timing bastard that had a bunch of irons in the fire, all of them crooked as a dog’s hind leg. He was behind several shady operations that put money in his pocket at the expense of others. Usually truckers who ran afoul of him and wound up paying fines just short of reaching the point one of them decided to report him to someone he didn’t intimidate. Another reason he wanted the FBI out of his county.

  The mayor was, as Charlie’s newfound kinsman observed, as clueless as a politician in confession. Most of his days were spent trying to balance a twenty-first century budget with a nineteen fifties tax base. He was a good man trying to make the best of a bad situation, made worse by a crooked sheriff. His antics were known statewide, but like most minor despots, he was tolerated mainly because it was less trouble than trying to prosecute him.

  Terry found the conversation interesting as Charlie translated it to him. It was an old story. And it was the same almost everywhere. Those in charge used that position for their own gain and anyone was just another mark.