Parallel II - The Gift

by Paul Rice

  The men smiled at him. “OK, well then… young Mister Red, that’s a deal, and we’ll bring some food along as well, huh?” The driver said and smiled at him again – both men turned back to the truck, climbed in, slammed the doors, and then with a final wave, drove off back towards the main road. Red waved back, turned towards the house and tramped up the wooden stairs, whistling happily as he went. Once inside the house, the growling in his stomach made him realise just how hungry he was. He made something to eat and then sat upon the threadbare couch with a coat across his legs and began reading the magazine – spooning baked beans and cheese into his mouth as he slowly turned the pages. The information he devoured was much more fulfilling than the paltry meal he had prepared himself. On further investigation, he found that there was a detailed article about the wonderful life which could be led whilst serving someone called ‘Uncle Sam’. It really took his fancy and he marked the page with his stubby pencil. He guessed Sam was the boss of the Army as he wore a really fine uniform, and sported a great big coat with Stars and Stripes all over it. “That’s a mighty fine coat, mighty fine!” The boy whispered as he reached out and ran his envious fingertip across the picture. There was a big picture of Sam pointing at the reader, he had a terribly serious look on his face and was saying: ‘Your country needs YOU!’ The other piece in the magazine, the one headed by the words ‘The Grey Men’, really interested the boy. It was all about some department called the CIA, and told all about what they did. The article also gave some quite considerable details on how a body could get into that line of work. “Them boys are the saviours of the world, that’s for sure?” His lightly stubbled face lit up with interest as he scoured the paragraphs relating to the story. He thought it looked beyond cool. “What a life they must have, all those secrets, fancy suits and radio sets with them special ear pieces, big cars, even bigger guns and hel-i-cop-ters, too – sheez, what a life!” He read it again and again, letting the words and pictures of the article pull him into their world.

  Later that night, he had slipped the magazine under his mattress and then crawled into bed with his clothes on. Even though spring was upon the land, the nights were still cold. Keeping his head under the covers to let his breath warm the air for while, the boy let his mind race. If he couldn’t be with the animals, draw and sketch things, then the kid knew what else he wanted to do.

  As he drifted off to sleep he felt certain. He knew it for sure.

  It had been two days now and he still hadn’t heard from his father. Life was a blissful mixture of chores, done first thing, and then wandering the farm looking at his subjects. He spent long hours sketching the Owl, which had taken to sleeping in the barn at nights. It wasn’t usual and the boy wondered if maybe it was ill, or something? The bird sat perfectly still and allowed him to get right up to it. He was so close, laying there with his pens and paper scattered around the hay loft, he could even see the fleas that jumped between the Owl’s feathers from time to time. If one was to look closely at the immaculate sketch, a tiny little dot could be seen just below the beautiful creature’s half closed eye. With the help of an eyeglass, the detail on the drawing of the tiny flea would have astounded any potential critic.

  Red also went down to the pond and caught himself a few fish, for as much as he disliked killing anything, the boy knew that he had to eat. In homage to the catch, he made sure that he licked every tiny bone completely clean, he would not waste a single morsel of flesh from such fine creatures. After he had washed the dishes he would make sure the house was tidy, in case his father came back, and then sit and scour the magazine again. It was becoming decidedly dog-eared by now and he knew the piece on the CIA almost word perfectly. His large hands flicked thorough the pages with alacrity, and as they did so, he suddenly caught sight of those hands. He stopped and looked down in horror, the thick covering of hairs that had begun to sprout from the backs of his hands were just like those on his father’s – he knew those hands only too well. “I’m jus like him!” The fear plunged into the pit of his stomach. “I don’ wanna be like him, not ever!” The wooden legs of the chair yelped in protest as he pushed it back from the table in angry frustration. He rose from the table and ran into the garden, where he sat, child like, in the old tyre that hung from his favourite tree. His large frame just about squeezed into the middle of the perished Firestone as he kicked at the ground below. “I’m gonna leave this place, I’m gonna join the Army and then I’ll get myself in the Goddamn Cee-eye-aay. That’s what I’m gonna do. Fuk him, you see ifen I don’t!” He kicked the ground in anger and then swung morosely to and fro with the ancient bough above him creaking alarmingly. The frustration flared within him and the boy let the full rush of his emotions burn brightly for a while.

  He knew that he had to get out, he had to get away.

  Later that night, as he lay huddled beneath the blankets, Red dreamt of a stone, a tiny stone that filled his head with madness and green light. His anguished cries floated forlornly through the silent house as he tried in vain to run from the light that filled his mind. The forces which control such things had started to weave their magic, and the lonely young man unwittingly began to turn towards their welcoming arms. The blackness, the portion he had inherited from his father, saw its opportunity and began its life changing cancerous spread within him. Without knowing it the young man had arrived at one of those crossroads that everyone reaches at some stage of their lives or another. The dark side took his hand and began to lead him on a journey towards an uncertain, trouble filled future. However, it was not a journey he would be permitted to take. Not if those who knew better could help it. Not if his current run of good luck prevailed he wouldn’t. Fortunately for him, luck was to remain on his side – luck, fate and George.

  Chapter 11 - A Rock and a Hard Place

  Jane dreamt of her father. It had been years since he had died… that terrible moment when she’d lost the first love of her life… and she had often seen him in her dreams since then. Sometimes she asked for his help during her everyday life, sometimes when times had been tough, Jane would say goodnight to him and ask that he help her. “I’ll just do whatever it is that comes into my mind first thing tomorrow morning, OK, Dad?” He must have been watching over her, because whatever it was that she decided upon the following day, always turned out to have been the right choice – no matter how crazy the idea seemed to have been. Jane had asked for her father’s help several times along the way, and he’d never let her down. Ever since Ken had been around, the old man seemed to have taken a vacation, perhaps he was satisfied in the knowledge that Ken would take care of his beloved daughter. That’s what Jane figured anyway, even if it was a slightly romantic idea, she didn’t care. Jane was a romantic.

  Tonight he was with her again, the battered old trilby hooked rakishly on the back of his head, hands stuffed into the pockets of his old raincoat. He smiled at her and she smiled back. Jane had no desire to speak and knew it would just be a waste of time – he was dead and this was merely a dream, just seeing him there once again was good enough for her. He waved and then turned away. As he meandered off, Jane saw him jump into the air and do his little sideways kick, clicking his heels together as he rose into the air in an ungainly leap, with his right hand clenched on the hat to stop it from falling off. When he did that it always reminded her of the painting, the one which had hung in his hallway for all those years, it still hung upon the landing wall of the Lodge today, she never could remember the name of the artist, ‘Millar’ or something, but it was one her favourites. “Oh yes, that’s Dad all right!” She thought, as she smiled in her dream world. A thin lance of pain suddenly speared into her left ear. “Oww, that hurts!” She spun around, not quite sure if she was awake or… Jane staggered as she watched the world swim before her eyes. Seeing a huge red couch over to her left, she wobbled across the musty smelling room and flopped down into the leather seat. “How the hell did I get here, I am dreaming – right?” She wasn’t quite so sure anymor
e and felt her confidence begin to falter. Hearing a loud noise, she turned to see the door behind her opening. It made a horrible grating sound, the rattling metallic noise almost making her teeth tingle. Jane rose to her feet in trepidation and watched as the door began to open inwards. “Dad, is that you?” She whispered, her mouth turning to sand. “It couldn’t be him, it just couldn’t…” The feeling of a tiny bead of sweat running for cover between her shoulder blades was almost too much. With a final rattling scrape, the glass paned door swung fully open and she saw the shadow as someone began to enter.

  She felt her mind begin to flutter. “No… it’s not possible!”

  Without batting an eyelid, Mike calmly walked into the room and grinned at her. He was followed by Ken and a slightly built, older man. And then, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, the three of them made their way over to join her by the couch. Feeling her legs about to give way, Jane collapsed into it and sat there look up at them, open mouthed. Ken joined her on the seat, whilst the other two remained standing. All three were smiling broadly, but through the well worn laughter lines on his face, Jane saw the light of deep concern lying in her husband’s green eyes. “Hey baby, are you OK now?” He said, reaching across to push the hair back from her forehead in his usual manner. She looked up at them in stunned silence, mouth still half open and mind racing. Ken reached across to gently shut her mouth with his hand, and then he laughed. “Yeah, well if it’s any consolation, I know exactly how you feel, sweetheart!” He laughed again, eyes now starting to twinkle. The other two joined in and Jane heard the old man chuckle, it sounded like the finest malt whiskey being poured onto honeyed ice cubes. It tinkled, but in a rich, thick way. It was the laugh of a good man.

  She shook her head and said, “Bloody hell, lads… you could have warned me, is this it then, the dream meetings you told us about, Mike?” Her pulse had slowed now and she reached up to her ear, it felt as though she had recently landed from a long flight and hadn’t quite equalised yet. She cracked her jaw to see if it would help her ear pop.

  The old man stepped forward and offered his hand. “Hi Jane, it is so nice to meet you at last – I’m George, by the way. Don’t worry my dear, the ear will return to normal in a few moments.” Jane stood, took the proffered hand and then gave George a hug. His thick coat smelt of spicy things, whiskey and cigars, too, by the smell of it. He stood at least a head shorter than she did and Jane could see the slight balding patch on the back of his grey head. He gently pushed her away and then stood holding her at arms length whilst he looked into her face. Turning to Ken, he said, “You are indeed a lucky man, Kenneth, it’s no wonder you fought so hard to live, no wonder at all.”

  Ken grinned. “Yeah, well… I needed to see those bloody dogs again – ouch!” He winced as the toe of Jane’s cowboy boot found his shin with great accuracy. He knelt forward, rubbed his injured shin and looked at his wife with a look of feigned horror. Mike joined them on the couch whilst George propped himself on the coffee table in front of them.

  “So, here we all are!” he said. “And then there were three…” George looked at each of them in turn. “I hope you are all now in tune with what it is that we are going to achieve over the next few months, years maybe?” There were no questions from them as they sat before him, most of the thoughts they had were already answered in some way. Deep inside they felt it was as though they were destined for this.

  Jane felt a peculiar sort of calm within her chest, it was a defining moment in her life and she welcomed it. “Maybe it’s just the dream, or perhaps the implant?” That thought alone would have been enough to scare some people witless, she guessed, but here she was, calmly sitting before some dream induced ‘Destiny Maker’ in the form of a pleasant old man who was wearing brown, corduroy trousers. “Weird, just plain weird is what this is, maybe I’ll wake up in a minute and it’ll all be gone. Thank Christ that Ken’s here!” She looked up as George spoke again.

  “I believe Michael has covered most of the details required to start you off, so I won’t labour the point. We have seen the error of our ways. We recognise that by adamantly refusing to interfere in the affairs of other worlds, that we have inadvertently allowed rank evil and ignorance to flourish on your small planet.” He snorted in self derision. “How ironic it is that our lofty stance will be responsible for leading us all on the path to destruction. We need to take some preventative action, and we intend to do so immediately!” George reached into the pocket of his coat and fetched out a small, square object and placed it on the floor. Turning back to the friends, he then said something that would remain with them forever afterwards. Rubbing his forehead between his thumb and forefinger, he said, “There are those people who may well judge us in the future, perhaps they will say we were no better than our prey.” That particular word hung in the air like a lead weight and they could all sense the heaviness of its meaning. “What we are about to embark upon is in no way a righteous crusade whatsoever, it is a necessity of the utmost importance! Think of it as the amputation of a poisoned limb, if you like?” he said. “We either remove the rotten part, or risk losing the entire body…” His face then took on a sorrowful look. “I am truly sorry that it is people such as your good selves who have been asked to help, although, from a personal point of view, I am extremely glad that it is you… This may at times be extremely difficult, but we will do everything to help with that, I promise you. When this is over we will also give you some assistance to progress in peace for the remainder of your lives.” Whilst he let his words sink in, George turned to the object on the floor, reached into his pocket once more and then pulled out one of the small remote control devices, which the men had used to zap the Spears with before. With a quick push of his left thumb, he used the zapper to turn the object into its correct size. With a liquid shimmer, which only Jane had never seen before, the square object transformed itself into a small, ochre coloured container.

  George knelt before the case and as the lid sprung open with a slight hiss, bade them: “Come and see…” The three of them obliged, the two men looking on with boyish curiosity and Jane doing the same, but with slightly more bewilderment as she was still trying to let her brain catch up with her eyes. The interior of the case was lined with some plush, red material and was sub divided into several smaller compartments. On the right hand side there was a clear plastic container that when opened revealed three, one-piece, cloth suits. They appeared similar to ‘Long John’ undergarments, but with some sort of finely woven metallic mesh intermingled in their design. It made the black suits shimmer slightly and seemed to give them a strange, mother-of-pearl effect. George removed the suits and passed them to Mike, the Australian rubbed the material between his fingers before leaning across and draping them across the arm of the couch.

  “Shrink Down suits, George?” Ken questioned as he glanced at the suits.

  George looked up. “Precisely, my boy, but these are more advanced and are specifically designed for this region, they really should not be used to jump to another dimension unless in the utmost emergency?” Reaching back into the box, he withdrew three objects, which appeared to be pens, and then placed them on the table. Their dull, but expensive looking metal cases seemed to be totally innocent.

  “Perhaps they are just pens and I’m getting all up tight for nothing?” Jane thought, as she sat watching in silence whilst George continued unpacking the case.

  Withdrawing some more objects, he proceeded to lay them on the table next to the pens. There were three, oblong containers that reminded Jane of some fancy aerosol spray, or something. They were about the same size in length and girth but had an unusual cap and were of the same, greenish hue, which the suits glistened with. Not being perfectly round or square in shape, the containers wobbled slightly on the glass table top. The items continued to be extricated from their cosy red case, always in threes: there were some things that appeared to be overly large cigarette cases, square, shiny and with a pair of glistening,
curved metal teeth at one end. As George stood them on their ends, the teeth, or barbs, glinted in the dull interior light of the room; they were the first items that looked like something nasty.

  The one common factor, which Mike obviously noticed, was that all the items had a raised green arrow running down their sides. The head of that rested near the probable business end of the strange objects, which had begun to litter the table in front of their eyes. He picked up one of the containers, and looking carefully at the arrow said: “This end towards enemy?” Ken agreed and said it reminded him of the instructions that were embossed on the front of the Claymore mines they had used so frequently in a previous life.

  The final things to appear from George’s magic case were in complete contrast to the previous items he had extracted. The first was a small plastic container, like a kid’s pencil case, and it had several blister packs of tablets contained within its opaque skin. There were two types of tablets, one set were small blue and bullet shaped, whilst the second row of pills were bright red and round. The pack that held the blue ones said ‘Travel’ in neat black letters across its front, whilst the red ones had the word ‘Emergency’ emblazoned across their own particular wrapper. The last items, this time there were only two of them, drew a barely concealed intake of breath from Ken as George casually placed them down. “Shit, they’re not what I think they are, George, are they?” He stood and moved towards the table. Mike stepped closer to the table. Jane noticed that his eyes had become more rounded, she felt relieved by their reaction as she had been suffering from that particular emotion, one of disbelief, for the best part of the last twenty minutes or so and it was nice not to be the odd one out for a change.